


Let Your Good Heart Lead You Home

by JustR



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blood, Drowning, Grieving, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Murder, Sexual Content, Strangers to Lovers, side of lilo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-26 21:13:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5020714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustR/pseuds/JustR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay, so he’s impressed. This person is amazing at what they do. Maybe even better- no. Harry closes his laptop after exiting his browser and places it on his coffee table so he can stretch on his sofa. His joints hurt from sitting in such an awkward position, and he can feel a tight knot forming in his lower back. He needs to rest. After that he needs to find a new target and show this Artist that they need to mind their own business.</p><p>They definitely have Harry’s attention. Now it’s his turn.</p><p>(PLEASE pay attention to the warning in the notes)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Your Good Heart Lead You Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fallinfinity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallinfinity/gifts).



> WARNING!!!! Please pay careful attention to the tags. This fic contains graphic descriptions of the ACTUAL act of murder, along with blood and other things that might be unsettling. (Also, if you feel a tag is missing, let me know in the comments)
> 
> Thank you so much for the interesting prompts! I think you can tell which one I went for? :) I loved writing it, and hope you'll enjoy reading it. If not, feel free to yell! 
> 
> Also a massive thank you to my beta! I really enjoyed working with you.
> 
> (The title is from a song by Editors.)

Everything is rotating.

 

The world. Wheels on cars and buses and bicycles. Washing machines. Harry’s thoughts, and his ceiling fan.

 

He’s following the movement, to the best of his ability anyway. It’s dark in his room; curtains shut to block out the last rays of the sun, and lights off so he won’t be blinded by staring at the fan blades. They provide enough wind for him to be comfortable in the otherwise stifling heat.

 

It’s summer, and it seems to have put a block on things. As a cartoonist, Harry relies on his creativity, but the heat melted that right out of him. He keeps coming back to the same idea, but it’s not what he wants. It’s just not right.

 

The doorbell rings, and his thought process stops. He has three days to finish it, he’ll manage.

 

Once he gets out of his dark room, it takes him a few seconds to get used to the lighting in the rest of his apartment, even when he dimmed them. A quick look at the monitor shows Harry that there’s nobody outside the building, which means they’re at his door. The only person he gave a key to is his best friend. And he isn’t supposed to come back from his trip until the next morning. Harry hesitates, but decides to open the door anyway.

 

‘’Surprise!’’ Liam yells, opening his arms so Harry can launch himself into a hug.

 

‘’Li, what are you doing here?!’’ Harry asks, pleasantly surprised. Liam’s got a tan, making him appear even more healthy and glowing than he already was.

 

‘’Wanted to surprise my favourite person! How is he? And what is he wearing?’’ Liam scrunches his nose up as he takes Harry in, a mix of amusement and disgust written across his face.

 

‘’They’re boxers,’’ Harry deadpans. He takes a step back so he can let Liam into his apartment, and rolls his eyes when his friend is still giving him questioning looks. ‘’I’m sure you’re familiar with them.’’

 

‘’Just a bit revealing, ‘s all.’’ Liam shakes his head and sits down on the sofa facing the TV. It’s a fairly small apartment, but Harry doesn’t mind. It means he doesn’t have to walk so much to get to where he wants. It takes him exactly ten seconds to run from the sofa, grab a drink and open it, and sit back down.

 

‘’Don’t act like you’re not used to it,’’ Harry says, pushing Liam’s shoulder before he sits down next to him, legs crossed over each other. ‘’How was LA?’’

 

Liam launches into a tale of long beaches, how he bravely tried new foods, and how this guy at a restaurant stared at him. Apparently it wasn’t even the flattering type of stare, just plain creepy. Harry happily lets Liam talk, drinking in his best friend’s experiences and wishing there was a way he could escape reality for a while. Preferably with a drink in his hand and the sun warming his skin.

 

‘’Sounds like you had a good time,’’ Harry comments once Liam finishes. "But I'm happy to have you back home."

 

Liam nods thoughtfully. "Yes, I did kind of miss New York." Harry nudges him with his foot, causing him to break out into a smile. "And you, of course. How've you been?"

 

"Same old," Harry sighs, shrugging. "They still didn't fix the coffee machine at the office, and my boss has been an even bigger pain. He doesn't seem to be thrilled by my most recent works." He hasn't been able to churn out anything worthy of praise, but it's not like he'll ever admit that out loud.

 

"Maybe your boss also needs a break?"

 

"Possible. I know I do." Harry rubs his eyes tiredly, the heat suddenly wearing him down. It's late; he can see his living room/kitchenette reflected in his windows, his own face staring back at him with a puzzled expression.

 

"Maybe you should go out more," Liam suggests. "Live a little."

 

"You know I don't like people, Li."

 

Liam snorts, shaking his head. ‘’Actually, you like them _too much_.’’

 

‘’Which is precisely why I _don’t_ like them,’’ Harry argues, letting his head fall back to rest on the sofa. His neck is craned painfully, but he likes looking up at the ceiling. It’s just white, and there’s nothing to see to get his thoughts going.

 

‘’You’re making my head hurt,’’ Liam moans, sinking deeper into the sofa.

 

Harry turns his head and looks at him sideways, notices how his cheeks are rounder and features softened out. He gained only a little weight, but it suits him well. ‘’I’m sorry,’’ he sighs, shifting so he can lean his head on Liam’s shoulder.

 

Liam hums, letting his hand rest on Harry’s hip, softly rubbing it up and down. ‘’You think,’’ he whispers, tilting his head in Harry’s direction, ‘’you’ll go out more, with me? It’s not as fun without you.’’

 

‘’How would you know that, when I never went with you?’’ Harry asks, smirking because he knows Liam doesn’t like it when he’s being a smartass.

 

‘’Shut up.’’ _Predictable_. ‘’Isn’t that a rule? Things aren’t as fun without your best friend?’’

 

Harry chuckles, sinking deeper into Liam’s side. ‘’No, things are _definitely_ more fun without you. You’re too serious.’’

 

‘’How would you know that, when you never went with me?’’

 

‘’Did you-‘’ Harry sits up, placing a hand on his chest in feign hurt. ‘’You cannot beat me at my own game.’’

 

‘’I’m a quick learner.’’

 

‘’No, you just copied me. It doesn’t work like that.’’

 

Liam shrugs, raising a hand to his mouth to hide a yawn. "Seriously, though."

 

"Seriously," Harry echoes, placing his elbow on the back of the couch and resting his chin on his hand. Liam looks up at him with a small frown, just nearly not a pout. Harry sighs, shaking his head. "Fine. I'll see if there's anything we can do."

 

"Mate, we'll have _so_ much fun."

 

Harry just hums and sends Liam a sleepy smile. There is something about his best friend that makes Harry want to protect him. Preserve his innocence and good view of the world. It's hard to find things so pure these days, but what's even harder is for them to stay that way.

 

Liam's a smart lad. Or can be when he wants to. He has some pretty serious gears in that head of his that can do plenty of turning, but he chooses not to. Maybe that is what makes him smart; choosing not to think too much. He lets his heart decide, and from what he's done so far, Harry can say that Liam is a sound person.

 

Harry would do the same, but he doesn't trust his heart.

 

~•~

 

It's Monday, probably everyone's least favourite day. To Harry it doesn't matter much; getting up early has never been a struggle for him, especially during summer, when it's still somewhat chilly outside and the heat doesn't make you feel like a wrung out towel.

 

It also seems more quiet than usual. The people are, anyway. Still not fully woken up and too busy thinking about the upcoming week to bother making any noise. There are more tired nods and mumbled apologies than on any other day, and Harry revels in it.

 

He likes to walk to work, bag clutched tightly in his hand in case anyone bumps into him. Too many times has he envisioned the scenario of flying paper, his work scattered on the busy road and in the wind, never to be seen again.

 

No, everything's currently stacked neatly in his little case. This week's cartoons, and even a mini comic that will hopefully impress Harry's boss enough to give him a chance to try different things. It's been too long since he's had a raise. Well, he actually never had one.

 

The bleak concrete building slowly starts to increase in size until he's standing in front of it, mind already set on getting out of there as fast as possible. Harry's plan is to drop off his work at his boss, sit at his desk until he's called up, and then endure the inevitable criticism until he can go home to start all over again the next day.

 

His plan is already ruined when his coworker stops him in the hallway with a hand on his shoulder and a look that says 'I've got something to tell you,' which makes Harry grit his teeth.

 

"Morning, Harold!" He insists on calling Harry that, and it's getting on his nerves.

 

"Horan," he replies curtly, wondering what anyone could have to say to him on a Monday morning. "How are you?"

 

‘’Fine,’’ Horan says, following Harry when he starts walking again. ‘’So, I have a thing.’’

 

‘’You have a thing.’’ Harry throws him an unimpressed look. ‘’Honestly, you need to be more specific.’’ His co-worker hurries after him and he begrudgingly holds open a door that opens into a hallway leading to the conference room. It’s quiet in the hallway; everyone is most likely inside, which means Harry will have to drop his work off quietly.

 

‘’Okay, well,’’ Horan starts, jittering around nervously. ‘’I’m in a band.’’ Harry nods for him to continue, unsure of where this is going. His interest is definitely piqued. ‘’And we have a gig this Friday night. Just a small place, but I’d like you to be there.’’

 

‘’Why?’’ is the first thing Harry asks, because even if they somewhat get along at work, he wouldn’t know why Horan wants to invite him to one of his gigs.

 

‘’We need an audience, okay? But you don’t _have_ to come if you-’’

 

‘’I’ll be there,’’ Harry interrupts, glancing at the door of the conference room and bumping his little case against his leg. ‘’Should I bring a friend?’’

 

‘’Really? And yes, bring anyone you want!’’ Horan’s wide smile is enough for Harry to soften up a bit. There really is something about the lad that makes it impossible to dislike him. ‘’It’s at The Rift. We start at eight.’’

 

‘’Noted,’’ Harry says, tapping the side of his head with his pointer finger. He angles his body towards the door, signalling that he’s ready to walk off again.

 

‘’Okay, see you then!’’ Horan spins around and hurries off, yelling as he closes the door: ‘’Thanks, Harold!’’

 

‘’It’s Harry!’’ he shouts back, but Horan doesn’t hear.

 

~•~

 

Of course Liam is absolutely ecstatic. Harry invited him as soon as he arrived home; worn by the easy dismissal of his boss, but looking forward to the weekend. He sinks down onto his couch, the quiet hum of the fridge in the kitchen providing a calming buzz to his ears. There is an uneasiness crawling under his skin, something only brought on by the repeated unwillingness of other people to just be decent. Is it really that hard?

 

He often wishes for a magical tool that would erase all his troubles, but everyone knows magic isn’t real. From what he’s seen of the world, he can’t bring himself to believe in anything. There is too much proof of the contrary. Some might call him bitter with his ‘’guilty until proven innocent’’ mindset. At least he’s not ignorant.

 

Slowly, he gets off his couch to retrieve his laptop from his bedroom. He sets it up on his small kitchen table, taking a refreshing beverage from his fridge and some of the leftover sushi from the night before. It’s noon, but he can’t be bothered to go outside for lunch; the temperature is steadily rising, and he’d rather go out at night, when it’s cooling off again.

 

First he checks his e-mail, disappointment weighing heavy on his shoulders when he sees his sister still hasn’t replied yet. Contact has been scarce ever since the incident, even if it’s been ten years. Maybe some bonds cannot be mended. Harry proceeds with visiting his favourite websites, which mostly contain news and gossip from his area and the rest of the state. After that there’s not much to do, so he shuts down his laptop and retrieves his cartoons from his case so he can finish them for the following days.

 

Harry is partly convinced he’s only still hired because cartoonists seem hard to come by, but it’s also a matter of opinion. Some might see quality in his work where he does not. After all, people  tend to think the worst of themselves. Maybe his boss is just being difficult because he doesn’t want Harry to become lazy. He ponders this as he slowly sees the cartoon come together, thinking about how much time and care goes into something so small.

 

‘’You are a tiny piece of art,’’ Harry whispers, looking down at what he made and feeling the crawling under his skin ease, if only a bit. ‘’Not everyone appreciates you like I do, but that’s okay.’’

 

With a heavy sigh, he gets up from the kitchen chair to stretch his legs. There’s an ache in his back that he ignores on his way to the small balcony attached to his bedroom. He can see the city under him, feel the sun and smell the fumes. It’s far from ideal, but right now it will just have to do.

 

‘’One day you’ll be out of here, Harry. Just you wait.’’

 

~•~

 

Harry can't wait for that day to arrive. Already his back is clammy with sweat, the loose fabric of his sheer blouse sticking to the damp spots on his skin. Warily, he looks around The Rift; a nightclub-venue hybrid with not enough room to dance and sticky tables that smell like beer no matter what other drink you spill on them.

 

It's not how he spends his typical Friday. Liam is standing next to him, nodding his head slightly off-beat to the generic music while they’re waiting for the first band to start playing. Horan had failed to mention there would be multiple bands, and since Harry had no name, he doesn’t actually know which one they’re waiting for.

 

He shifts his weight and takes a swig from the cool beer, ignoring the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth. Liam elbows him in the side and nods to the stage where people are already taking place at the instruments. More people seem to catch on and the chatter is slowly replaced by cheers, increasing rapidly in volume when the stage lights spring on to reveal a man at the microphone. He seems about Harry’s age, with messy brown hair and a mischievous grin aimed at the audience.

 

‘’We’re The Rogues,’’ the man introduces them, and Harry is surprised by his voice; it’s higher than he imagined it would be, but it also has something unique. When he looks at the rest of the band, he finally notices Horan with a guitar in his hands, appearing somewhat nervous.

 

‘’That’s him,’’ Harry yells in Liam’s ear and points at Horan, who’s now bouncing up and down with a gleeful look on his face. Liam nods, sparing Horan a glance before his eyes are back on the lead singer again. The band finally starts playing, an energetic rock song to get everyone warmed up, but Harry is more occupied with Liam and his friend’s unwavering stare directed at the stage. Or a certain someone on it.

 

‘’Fancy someone?’’ Harry asks teasingly above the loud music, grinning when Liam throws him a confused look.

 

Liam shakes his head. ‘’They’re good,’’ he says, eyes flickering between the lead singer and Harry. Definitely interested. Harry throws him a skeptical look, but says nothing.

 

They really are good, though. There's a pleasant energy in the air and the songs are easy on the ears. By the time they finished their set Harry's on his third beer and positively buzzing, feeling more alive than ever. Usually he doesn't like crowds, but this is different. This feels open and relaxed. His mind drifts off until he’s pulled back by a hand on his arm, warm and sturdy. When he blinks, he sees Liam pointing somewhere.

 

Horan is walking through the crowd, with the lead singer in tow. Harry automatically raises his hand, beckoning him over and ignoring the panicked noise Liam makes when his friend follows. ‘’You’ll be fine,’’ Harry convinces Liam, patting him firmly on the shoulder.

 

‘’Harold! You made it!’’ Horan cheers, dragging his friend closer to the table and slinging an arm around his shoulder. ‘’This is Louis.’’

 

‘’Hi, I’m _Harry_. This here is Liam,’’ Harry narrows his eyes at Horan and puts extra emphasis on his own name in hopes of not being called Harold anymore. The man was either stubborn or stupid. Maybe both.

 

‘’Nice to meet you, Liam,’’ Louis says extending his hand with a wink. For a moment Harry’s afraid Liam is too flustered to take it, but he does so without turning entirely tomato-red. ‘’And Harry.’’ He doesn’t get a wink, which only bodes well for Liam.

 

Horan seems oblivious to the exchange, tilting his head closer to Harry. ‘’Thanks for coming, I hope you enjoyed the show?’’

 

‘’It was good,’’ Harry replies, smiling tentatively at his co-worker. ‘’Who knew you could play guitar like that, Horan?’’

 

‘’Call me Niall.’’

 

‘’Niall, then.’’ Harry’s eyes flicker to the new band on stage before settling on Niall again. He’s starting to feel more like a friend. They could potentially get along. He’s not sure yet. ‘’So, how’d you get in a band?’’

 

Niall laughs briefly, a happy, bubbly sound that makes Harry smile along. ‘’I know right, how does a boring office person get in a band?!’’

 

Harry shakes his head. ‘’You’re hardly boring.’’ He takes a swig of his beer, turning his head to glance at Liam, who seems to be getting along with Louis very well. If the way they’re in each other’s space is anything to go by. ‘’And you don’t seem like the office type.’’

 

Niall shrugs. ‘’Well, I work at a newspaper,’’ he says, like that’s supposed to explain anything.

 

‘’You do the sports section..’’ Harry trails off, biting his lip and frowning. ‘’Not that - I’m not saying that’s a bad thing.’’

 

‘’You ever actually read it?’’ Niall asks, sipping from his own drink with a raised eyebrow.

 

‘’Um, no.’’

 

‘’Then don’t judge the sports section!’’ Niall narrows his eyes at Harry, but there’s no real contempt there. He seems like a good spirit.

 

‘’I wouldn’t dare.’’ Harry bites his lip to keep from smiling, but he knows his eyes betray him. Liam is then pulling at his sleeve, demanding his attention.

 

‘’Harry, we’re going to the front,’’ Liam says, motioning towards the stage. His cheeks are pink, eyes bright with happiness. Harry nods, patting his cheek before squeezing his shoulder and pushing him off with a wave.

 

Niall places his elbows on their table, looking after Louis and Liam with a smug smile on his face. ‘’Those two seem to get along well.’’

 

Harry nods, setting his finished beer on the table with an empty thud, almost lost in the music and chatter. ‘’I’m heading to the restroom,’’ he says, trying to spot a way through the crowd.

 

‘’I’ll be here. Don’t get lost,’’ Niall laughs, earning a glare from Harry.

 

It takes some pushing and squeezing before he finally reaches the poorly lit restroom, which seems strangely empty for an event like this. Only one stall is occupied, but other than that he’s the only one in here. Harry walks to the faucets, wetting his hands and pressing them to his cheeks. It’s cool, not quite enough, but better.

 

He watches himself in the mirror, the flush in his cheeks and tired look in his eyes. Only he can see the latter; recognises it from so many other days. Plus, he knows himself. Or he likes to think so, anyway. The thought of maybe not knowing himself seems daunting, or not knowing who he’s going to be. He’s already making changes. Subtle ones that will help him with the big ones.

 

Maybe he’s not so much making changes as just preparing. For the future. There’s a shift happening, which is purely a gut feeling, but reason enough for Harry. Liam would definitely worry if he confessed any of this, although Liam doesn’t nearly know everything about Harry.

 

Some things really are best kept secret.

 

~•~

 

After that night, work seems to be less of a bore, which is mostly thanks to Niall. He comes to Harry’s desk regularly and sits on top of it, leaving the papers crumpled after talking Harry’s ears off. Strangely enough, Harry doesn’t really mind; he enjoys the easy company and the uneventful stories of a certain sports team’s performance. The paper isn’t a big deal, mostly discarded cartoons and notes from his boss.

 

One time Niall looked at one of them and promptly asked Harry if he was afraid he’d ever run out of ideas. His job was easy in comparison; there was always a match that needed discussing, constant developments that needed reporting. Harry merely shrugged and said it was the opposite, really. He could draw _anything_. He wasn’t confined to sports. Niall shook his head in disbelief at that, told him ‘’ _You can’t just draw_ anything _, Harold. It’s not that easy._ ’’

 

Harry is reluctant to admit, but the nickname is starting to grow on him.

 

He rubs at his temples, focusing on the steady hum of his fridge. Niall was right, of course. Drawing _anything_ isn’t an option. Not when he has to take into consideration what the audience wants to see - that’s where Niall’s job is easier. It’s not about what the readers want, but about relaying the right information. This is more difficult, although Harry’s inclined to stick to the way he’s been handling things. Lately he’s found great pleasure in addressing certain issues; his recent cartoon on the cruelty going on in Seaworld sparked some interest here and there. If anything, he likes stirring things up. His boss told him it would be his own fault if they came for him, but Harry could see he was amused.

 

Irritation tugs at his temper, and Harry leaves the clean sheets of paper in favour of sitting on the couch and sifting through channels on TV. He skips right past the infomercials, choosing to settle on the 24/7 news channel broadcasting recent developments. The background music seems in stark contrast with the text; a soothing melody slapped on top of messages about murders, thefts and politicians battling each other in foreign countries.

 

What really churns his stomach and makes his blood boil is reading about a rapist being cleared of all charges, only because the young girl really did seem well-developed for her age. _The injustice_. His memory flashes back to that certain night; _yelling, glass shattering, a fight. She’s completely helpless._ Harry blinks rapidly, already halfway up from his position before his mind is set on anything. But that’s the thing. In cases like this, his mind is set _for_ him. Maybe his mind isn’t involved at all.

 

He sets up his laptop on his desk this time, staring past the open doors of the balcony before swiveling his chair and opening his browser. To his right, he can feel the faint breeze of a summer night, but it does nothing to cool him down, not when he’s burning from the inside. Not when it’s this intense, completely taking him over. He’ll make sure to find the man.

 

He’ll find him, and make him pay.

 

~•~

 

It takes days before he’s gathered enough information, or well, information he deems accurate enough to act on. A lot of the information stems from pro-equality blogs, spreading images and locations, telling people to ‘be cautious’ and ‘not forget this’. They do all the work for him, and all Harry has to do is compare it with other sources before he can begin coming up with a plan.

 

In the meantime, he has to be careful not to slack on his actual work, because he has to eat and pay the bills somehow. He doesn’t think Liam would be able to take care of them both. One of the things that bothers Harry is how much Liam actually gets paid; it should be more, because as a firefighter, he _is_ risking his life more often than not. Also, as Liam’s best friend, he might be a bit biased. He always thinks Liam deserves the world and all the good things in it, which is also completely Harry.

 

With him it’s all or nothing; no in betweens, no greys, no maybe’s. Or that’s what he likes to think. That he doesn’t let things get muddy and that everything to him is crisp and clear, and that he’ll always stick to that belief. He’s proud of his strength and his unwavering mind, his total control of himself. Everything he does is done with precision and care, not a step left uncalculated.

 

So when he sets foot outside, he’s determined. There is no stopping him.

 

If he bumps into anyone familiar right now, he’s not sure if they’ll recognise him right away. He’s dressed slightly out of character; an old pair of loose-fitted jeans with trainers and a black T-shirt. The bun is totally him, though.

 

Harry is looking for an old diner, knowing that’s where his target likes to spend his Friday nights, looking for potential prey. Why he would still go there after everything that’s happened is beyond Harry, but he knows humans are creatures of habit. Plus, the man got away with his crime, so who’s to say he won’t just continue?

 

When the diner finally comes into view, Harry does a quick scan of the street, finding a bench conveniently placed in its vicinity. It’s empty, so he takes place on it while making sure he has a clear view of anyone entering and leaving the diner. He looks at faces, takes them in, and forgets them if they’re not a match. A chuckle slips past his lips when he realises he never bothered to memorise the man’s name; a face is all he needs. A face that’s not worthy of a name, because monsters shouldn’t have names. They should be forgotten.

 

Half an hour passes, and Harry _feels_ more than sees when his target enters his sight. His lips quirk up in a smile, because the man clearly doesn’t suspect a thing. Harry knows from the way the man carries himself, has seen it before. It screams _victory, I’m invincible_. A man that’s gotten away with what he knows is an awful crime, and revels in it. It makes Harry’s blood boil, his hands twitch and feet carry him closer.

 

But, he knows he should be careful. Can’t draw attention to himself, so he sticks to the shadows, a pleased hum tickling his throat when the man doesn’t go for a taxi or any other vehicle; he’s on foot. Excellent.

 

They walk a short distance before the man turns abruptly and walks up a sets of steps belonging to a collection of apartments. Harry pauses briefly, waiting for the man to step inside before he comes closer, eyes trained on the building and ready to detect movement. It takes a few minutes before a light springs to life behind one of the previously dark windows. Third floor, to the right. How convenient.

 

Then it’s dark again, and there’s light from another room. This one flickers, the telltale sign of a TV with its ever-changing images. Harry feels his brows twitch in irritation, his patience wearing thin. He’s eager to strike, not fond of merely standing here wasting his time. There’s no movement for a while, so he decides to slip into the alley next to the building, feet light and quick as he makes his way to the fire escape.

 

The metal creaks under his weight, so Harry takes large steps, careful not to touch anything. The day he leaves fingerprints will be his last on earth.

 

When he makes it to the third floor a window is, to his surprise, already open. Summer does have its advantages. He retrieves a pair of nitrile gloves from his pocket and slips them on, carefully putting on a pair of generic garden gloves afterwards.

 

His heart thumps with a rush of excitement triggered by the gloves, the feeling akin to waking up the morning you’re going somewhere; a promise, and the knowledge that something is going to happen. Harry is awake and alert as he climbs through the window, finding himself in a dark bathroom. There’s no light coming in from underneath the door, which means the hallway must be dark as well.

 

He hesitates for a moment, contemplating staying in the bathroom or moving on and finding his target. Avoiding a fight is crucial, because he’s not sure if he’ll win that one. It has to be done quietly. These moments are when he wishes he had a partner, someone who can help him decide, speed things up and make them easier.

 

Slowly, he pushes down the handle of the door, which to his relief, makes no noise. He steps into what he already suspected was a dark hallway. A few feet away is another door, this one cracked open and allowing the flickering light of the TV to bleed into the hallway. Harry can hear muffled voices and music as he creeps closer, accompanied by a deep rumbling noise, which bears the unmistakable likeness of snoring. Would luck be on his side?

 

Careful not to cast a shadow, he stops next to the door, pressed against the wall and listening. Just listening. There definitely is a distinct noise _not_ coming from the TV, so slowly, inch by inch, he leans towards the crack in the door until he has a view of the room - bedroom, in fact. There's a figure on the bed, unmoving. Asleep.

 

Harry feels a twitch in his fingers, hot determination blooming through his chest. His vision swims for a moment, and he reminds himself to breathe. To _think_.

 

If he keeps his volume below the TV, he shouldn't wake his target. There's a plate on the desk with an unfinished sandwich and a knife; option A. The discarded socks on the floor to silence the man. Messy, but fun? Harry lets his eyes drift to the digital alarm clock, head tilting in curiosity as he thinks. It has a strong-looking cable; option B? The pillows could be used as a last resort.

 

Silently, he pushes open the door far enough for him to slip into the room. He hovers for a moment, observing the person on the bed. The man is on his side, face buried in the pillow while the rest of his body is hidden under a thin sheet. He looks peaceful. _Too peaceful_ , thinks Harry. Again he has to remind himself to stay calm, to not get carried away.

 

He sinks to the floor, sticking closely to the foot of the bed so as not to block the light of the TV; disturbing the environment has to be avoided as much as possible. As he crawls along the floor, he grabs the pair of socks and folds them together. Then he crawls around the bed until he's in front of the night stand, peering up at the alarm clock and following the thick cable with his eyes until he finds the socket it's plugged into.

 

Before he removes it, he decides to set the clock an hour ahead. Just to mess with the evidence. He takes a deep steadying breath and unplugs the alarm clock, carefully watching his target for any movement.

 

None. Next step.

 

Harry slowly rises, taking the long cable and tugging at it; it's firm, it will hold. Carefully, with the socks in his hand just in case, he places the cable above the pillow and starts slipping it under. His target keeps snoring, back turned to Harry in what is almost a sign of sheer trust in his ability to remain unharmed. To not be punished for his deeds. Harry's fingers flex around the cable, breath almost undetectable as the cable appears from under the pillow again, now beneath his target's neck.

 

The man stirs, but does not wake up. As fearless asleep as he is awake, something the man's victim surely cannot relate to. The mere thought makes Harry seethe with rage, and the next moments blur together, vision shrinking as if he's watching through a telescope from the wrong end, but still very alert.

 

The cable is wrapped around the man's neck, socks stuffed into his mouth the moment it opened to gasp for breath, or maybe to scream. There's a struggle. The man twists on his back, and Harry sits on top of his chest, trapping his arms under his blanket and adding weight to the already breathless man.

 

Harry tightens the cable. His target's face is turning red. Red like blood. _He can hear glass shattering_. Eyes bulging, overflowing with tears. _Fear_. Harry feels nothing, only wants to see the light go out. _Please turn the lights off, so he can't see_. Red turns into purple. The bed creaks under their combined weight. Harry tightens the cable even more, growing impatient. The lights start to fade, the man stops struggling, twitches. _Harry?_ Justice.

 

Slowly he releases his grip from the cable, blinking at the dead man beneath him. The echo of his sister's voice is still bouncing around inside his head, a chill running up his spine. He gets up from the bed, eyes leaving his victim and focusing on the TV instead.

 

There's an old black-and-white movie playing, something Harry doesn't know. His sister would; she knows everything. Except him, of course. Or maybe she knows him better than he does. Is that why she doesn't talk to him?

 

The question lingers, itching at his mind. There are no answers, not for him.

 

He ignores the TV and picks up the butter knife next to the forgotten sandwich. Now for the final step: his symbol. Something he leaves on all his victims, as a reminder of why their life was taken from them - the police has figured out a pattern, finally - and that they will not go unpunished.

 

With the knife steady in his hand, he holds his victim's face in place. The butter knife doesn't offer much precision, but it will do. Slowly, Harry carves one wave into the man's forehead, then adds two more. Blood leaks from the wounds, down the side of his face. It stains the pillow, but Harry doesn't notice; he's lost.

 

_He's lost._

 

_Can't find his mummy. The supermarket seems bigger than ever with no hand to guide him, no voice to keep him company._

 

_The voice, it's calling for him. He doesn't move, carefully watches both ends of the aisle._

 

_She's here. "Harry!" She found him. He runs up to her, tightly holding on to her leg. She ruffles his hair. He can smell flowers; mummy always smells like flowers. "You're always slipping away! Don't do that, okay?"_

 

_"Like water?" Harry looks up at her, eyes big and wondering._

 

_She blinks. Once, twice. "What?"_

 

_"Water always slips away when I try to hold it," he whines, small fingers finding their way into his mother's shirt, tugging. "Even when I ask it not to."_

 

_She smiles fondly at him, prying his hands away from her shirt and holding them firmly in her own. "Yes, sweetie. Like water."_

 

Harry looks down at his symbol. Water.

 

There's no slipping away for his victims.

 

~•~

 

Of course it makes the headlines. _Bane returns_ is stamped on every imaginable newspaper. It's the name they gave him, like he belongs in some kind of movie. If this were a movie however, they'd catch him.

 

The name is an interesting choice, but Harry gets it. He's a bane to them. A ghost they haven't managed to catch yet. If anything, he just thinks he's lucky. What would happen if his luck ran out is something he'll think about another day, or preferably never.

 

Niall is perched on Harry's desk, munching on an apple and reading today's paper. "He's a right nutter, that Bane," he announces, folding the paper and laying it on the desk. "And that symbol's just another mystery."

 

"It is?" Harry muses, sitting back in his chair. He has to resist the urge to roll his eyes when Niall dribbles down his chin, wiping it away with his sleeve.

 

"I mean, it makes me think of water." He frowns, as if his thoughts are running up empty. Harry can relate to the feeling. "That's about it."

 

"Have you looked it up?" Harry suggests, tapping a rhythm on his thigh with his fingers - one of his tells. The subject still makes him somewhat uneasy.

 

Niall laughs, throwing his apple in a nearby bin and nearly missing it. "I'm not the research type." He crosses his arms, looking down at his jittering feet. "Rather let someone else do that and just tell me what's what."

 

"But anyone knows how to use Google," Harry reasons, swaying side to side in his chair.

 

Niall snorts, throwing him an indignant look. " _Of course_ I know how to use Google. I'm not an idiot."

 

"Didn't say you were."

 

"Sure sounded like it," he grumbles, uncrossing his arms. "I can do research. I just choose not to."

 

Harry nods and tucks a stray curl behind his ear. "Fair enough."

 

"Still up for Friday?" Niall asks, changing the subject. "Louis has been dying to see Liam again, although I don't understand why he doesn't just ask him on a date, y'know?"

 

"Tell me about it," Harry sighs, recalling how last night's conversation on the phone too often strayed to Louis and how amazing he was. "I just want them to get it over with, but then I think about how much we'll have to suffer once they're actually together."

 

Niall cringes, a distressed look crossing his face. "Good point." He chews on his bottom lip, then adds, "You think they'll notice if we move to another state?"

 

"If we went from solid to liquid, maybe." Harry is thrown an incredulous look and he has to fight to keep a straight face.

 

"Did you just?" Niall asks, and knows enough when Harry wiggles his eyebrows. " _For the love of-_ I'll see you Friday."

 

Harry frowns. "But it's only Monday?"

 

"Exactly." Niall offers no further explanation, but Harry can hear him muttering under his breath as he leaves: " _That man and his bloody_ jokes _. I'm surrounded by idiots._ "

 

Harry knows Niall will be at his desk again tomorrow.

 

~•~

 

Other than the obvious stress that comes with being one of the most sought-after serial killers, there's also the attention - if that's what you could call it. Plenty of articles in which people try to figure him out, pulling questionable theories out of every dusty corner of the internet (sometimes even _real_ books. Wow.) and generally spewing as much nonsense as they can in the hopes of saying _something_ right. Harry shouldn't judge, he's guilty of the latter himself. Anyway, even if the articles can get annoying, they can also be an interesting read.

 

It's almost as if someone overheard Harry's conversation with Niall the other day - about what his symbol means - because two days later, there's an article. Of sorts. Harry stumbled across it during his regular browsing of the internet, and figures, why not read it? Theories about him and his motives always amuse him, so he lazily scrolls through the article while carefully sipping on his tea (it’s still very hot).

 

_Bane: The Exclusive Theory_

 

 _We all know that anyone looking for information isn’t going to find it in a newspaper. Not if what you’re looking for is something beyond attention-grabbing chatter and the latest development - which, by the time it reaches the stands, isn’t even that new anymore. Which is why I took it upon myself to answer the real questions:_ why _are they doing this, and what does their symbol mean?_

 

_Let us look at the latter first: the symbol. It seems randomly selected, but when you think about it, it's really not. If you look at the drawings spread everywhere, you will notice it looks a lot like something resembling water, or waves. There are a number of meanings attached to water, all of which are... interesting._

 

_Most frequently you’ll come across ‘purity’, ‘healing’, and ‘cleansing’. What is Bane trying to say with this? That they purify and cleanse their victim by killing them, or that the world is purified and cleansed of the victim? If you look at what the victims have in common, which is that they’re criminals of sorts, the latter seems to be very likely._

 

_In some instances water represents death and violence. It is easy to imagine still lakes and flowing rivers, but one shouldn’t forget the destruction a storm at sea can cause. Is Bane branding their victims like this? Mark them so their deeds will not be forgotten, as the world is cleansed of their harmful souls._

 

_Had their symbol been anything more unusual - and not something easily looked up - they would have been easier to track down. Does this mean Bane isn’t particularly creative, or very smart?_

 

_But there is a more mind-boggling question:_

 

Why _are they doing this? The pattern suggests they’re merely looking for justice. In what seems to be a twisted kind of way. There’s also been chatter they could have been a victim of something themselves. Either way, it doesn’t seem to be anyone associated with the victims, which means they’re not doing this just for themselves. Are we dealing with some kind of vigilante?_

 

_Regardless of their motives, or if they believe they’re acting for the greater good, anyone willing to commit cold-blooded murder is someone that needs to be stopped, even if their popularity amongst the public seems to be growing. Will Bane follow Ripper’s footsteps and create a worldwide media frenzy? It remains to be seen._

 

By the time Harry finishes reading, his tea is left forgotten on the coffee table and his fingers are shaking over his laptop. He doesn’t know why he’s shaking, or trembling more like. There’s an indescribable prickle running up his spine and when he flexes his hands he can almost feel them tingle.

 

All this time he allowed himself to believe he can stay in his little cocoon; blend into the background and buzz of other criminals, but people are starting to notice. More than he’d like. And these people are coming up with theories that seem scarily accurate from an outsider’s position. But they’ll never know about his mother. No, that piece of the puzzle will always be his. He’s doing this for her, and people like her. They _need_ him.

 

But he’s scared. Not of getting caught, no. Of Liam finding out. His other friends. Losing them.

 

He lost his sister already.

 

_‘’Harry?’’_

 

_It’s his sister. She’s standing in the doorway, her nightgown almost comically white and clean compared to what the kitchen looks like. And Harry._

 

_He looks down at his hands. They’re red. Everything is._

 

Harry shakes off the image, taking a deep stuttering breath and closing his laptop. No internet, he promises himself. At least not for a while.

 

~•~

 

The four of them are meeting up for lunch, since Liam’s shift won’t allow for them to have dinner together. It’s a reasonable compromise, Harry thinks. He hasn’t been out for lunch in a while, and the menu looks very appetizing.

 

So far it’s only him and Niall; the other two seem to be running late. Harry scoffs at this thought, attracting Niall’s attention. ‘’What?’’ he asks, putting his menu down and waiting for a response.

 

Harry shrugs. ‘’Curious that they’re both late, don’t you think? I mean, Liam’s usually very punctual,’’ he voices his thoughts, and Niall nods along.

 

‘’Think they’re having a pre-lunch?’’ Niall asks, wiggling his eyebrows. Harry grimaces, quickly delving back into his menu and forcing away the mental image that arose with Niall’s words.

 

Just as Harry’s about to comment on his empty stomach, he sees two familiar figures entering the restaurant. About damn time.

 

‘’Sorry we’re late!’’ Liam rushes up to the table, cheeks flushed red and eyes shining with happiness. Harry raises his brow when Liam sits next to him, but he’s ignored as his friend picks up the menu instead of look at him. Louis doesn’t offer an apology, just sits down with a light hearted greeting and focuses on his own menu. For a moment, Harry’s completely baffled, wondering if maybe they’re not aware of how _obvious_ they both are.

 

‘’So, what held you up?’’ Niall asks, sharing a look with Harry. They sure are acting out of character.

 

Liam clears his throat. ‘’Missed our stop because of Lou,’’ he confesses, eyeing the person in front of him. Somehow that doesn’t surprise Harry, but the nickname is kind of out of the blue.

 

‘’Because of _me?_ ’’ Louis interferes, kicking Liam under the table.

 

‘’Do I even want to know?’’ Niall seems hesitant, but also curious. Interesting position to find yourself in. Harry’s been there often enough.

 

Louis rolls his eyes. ‘’We weren’t _doing_ anything. I asked him on a date.’’ He shrugs and turns back to his menu. Harry looks to his side to find Liam smiling fondly at the man; an expression that isn’t used on others often. Liam must really like him.

 

‘’A date?’’ Niall asks, stunned. ‘’I’m impressed, mate.’’

 

‘’I can be serious,’’ Louis mumbles indignantly.

 

‘’I’m happy for you guys,’’ Harry interjects, smiling when Liam softly squeezes his hand under the table.

 

For some reason Liam seems really gone on Louis, and Harry thinks he knows why. There’s a fire in Louis, a thrilling energy that makes a person want to _live_. Do things they’re not supposed to do. It’s what attracts Liam, like a moth to a flame. Even if his job is to extinguish fires, he sure seems to love them. You wouldn’t think that when you look at him, though. Liam’s safe, careful, sweet. He plays by the rules and is generally a very sound person.

 

Maybe it won’t be so bad if Louis corrupts him a little bit, teaches him how to have fun without worrying about it or feeling guilty. In the meantime, Harry will just have to endure them and their antics.

 

It’ll be worth it, though.

 

~•~

 

‘’Huh, looks like Bane’s getting creative.’’

 

It’s Monday, _again_ , and Niall just arrived at Harry’s desk with a newspaper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. For a moment Harry’s distracted, thinking they must have finally fixed the coffee machine, when what Niall’s said kicks in.

 

‘’He what?’’ Harry blurts, stunned. Niall seems to ignore the odd reaction in favor of reading the article. In the meantime, Harry tries to rack his brain. He can’t remember killing anyone, and he’s never gotten blackouts.

 

‘’Wait, no-’’ Niall pauses, raising his brows as he scans the article again. ‘’This guy’s different. But he used the symbol.’’ He drops the paper in front of Harry. ‘’Think they’re working together?’’

 

If Harry was working with anyone, he’d know. The article reveals that there has been a murder in Atlanta, where they seem to have a pest of their own who goes by ‘The Artist’. Normally he just paints bloody murals, but this time they used Harry’s symbol.

 

‘’He paints bloody _murals_? What a pretentious arsehole,’’ Harry fumes, dropping the paper on his desk. Is this guy trying to one-up him? Mock him? Whatever he’s doing, it’s not funny.

 

‘’Relax, man. At least he’s far off.’’ Niall shakes his head. ‘’Wouldn’t dream of having _that_ kind of crazy walking around here, you know.’’

 

‘’Yeah,’’ Harry breathes, trying to control his anger. ‘’Rather have Bane.’’

 

Niall shrugs, already appearing bored with the topic. ‘’Whatever. He only targets criminals, so I know I’m safe from him.’’ Harry observes him as he sips on his coffee, brows knitting together. ‘’Although, he’s technically a criminal himself. What’s that one quote?’’

 

‘’Really,’’ Harry scoffs. ‘’You’ll have to be more specific than that.’’

 

‘’Something about becoming a villain.’’ Niall takes his paper and carefully folds it, downing the last bit of coffee in his mug.

 

‘’You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain?’’ Harry offers, leaning back in his seat.

 

‘’Yeah! What’s that from?’’

 

‘’Batman. I think.’’ He really hasn’t watched that movie in a very long time.

 

Niall nods slowly. ‘’Let’s hope he doesn’t become the evil he’s trying to eradicate.’’

 

‘’You sound almost poetic, Niall,’’ Harry quips, grinning widely. Niall whacks him on the head with his newspaper.

 

‘’Maybe I’ll send a message to Bane and tell him how much of a _pain_ in the _ass_ you are.’’ Niall hits him on the head again for good measure before walking off with his head held high, obviously pretending he doesn’t hear Harry laughing. Niall always pretends he doesn’t put up with Harry’s shit, but secretly he loves it. Harry can tell.

 

He grabs a pencil, tapping the back of it on his desk in annoyance. With Niall gone - for now, anyway - his mind is free to roam again, with his first thought landing on The Artist. Honestly, Harry feels like they’re trying to steal the spotlight. They’re undoing his hard work by distracting people from the _purpose_. What on earth do they think they’re doing? What do they want? Is this a direct message to Harry?

 

With a groan he releases his pencil, pressing his fingers to his temples. All these questions. Above anything, he just feels like he’s being made fun of, and he won’t have that.

 

Time to start researching again.

 

~•~

 

 _Never again_ , Harry tells himself, _will I go out for drinks with Niall Horan. On a Monday._ He’s so drunk that he can’t even remember what they were celebrating. It doesn’t help that he’s a lightweight. What was he doing again? Right, home. He’s standing in front of his apartment door with a puzzled expression, feeling like he should remember something. Of course he knows he has to open the door, but he’s also convinced he has to keep looking at it because then he’ll remember something.

 

‘’I’m staring at a door,’’ Harry mumbles to himself. ‘’DooOOooor. Deer, daar, diir.’’ He rests his forehead against it, and almost collapses when he forgets to hold himself up. With a groan, he fumbles for his keys and attempts to open it. ‘’I remember now,’’ he hisses. ‘’I _hate_ doors.’’ It takes some effort, but he manages to stumble into his apartment and not knock anything over.

 

Harry shucks off his shoes and lets his hands glide along the walls as he makes his way to his bedroom, contemplating if he should take his T-shirt or jeans off first, since there’s no guarantee he’ll get them both and he has to make the decision which one would be worse to sleep in. Jeans, definitely jeans.

 

Without much grace, he faceplants on his bed and rolls over so he can start working on taking off his pants. They’re too tight and it was hot in the bar, so they’re sticking to his legs. Everything feels sticky, even his eyelids. He can’t keep them open. Harry tries to weakly kick off his jeans, but before he knows if he did it, he’s fast asleep.

 

_The first thing he notices when he opens his eyes is that he feels better than he should; no pounding head or dry mouth or sore limbs from knocking into objects and people. Another thing he notices is that it’s still dark. And he can hear the sea. He sits up, confusedly taking in his surroundings and concluding that he is in fact, still in his bedroom. Nothing else seems out of place, and for a moment he considers just going back to sleep, until his curiosity gets the better of him._

 

_Harry gets out of bed because he wants to check outside; maybe he’ll see something from the balcony. As he gets closer to his balcony doors, there appears to be a faint scent of salt in the air, just a hint at what might be behind the doors. When he does open them, he’s utterly perplexed._

 

_In front of him is a large ocean and nothing else, with waves calmly lapping at the bottom of his balcony. The sky is a bright blue, void of clouds. When he looks behind him, his room is still dark. There’s really nothing out here, so he decides to go back into his room and go back to sleep. It strikes him as odd that his apartment seems to be in the middle of the ocean, but he isn’t bothered by it._

 

_Just as he’s about the lie back and burrow his face in his pillow, there’s yelling. Muffled by walls, but still clearly yelling. The bad kind, the one that means fights and tears and tension at the dinner table. Harry wants to go back to sleep and ignore it, but he has to know what’s going on. If he should be afraid._

 

_Quietly but swiftly he opens his bedroom door, stopping in his tracks when he finds himself in his old house. There’s the unmistakable staircase with the stains at the top left by the many spilled drinks from running up too fast, and the dim orange light in the hall downstairs. A glance to his right reveals that his sister’s bedroom door is still closed. Maybe she’s still asleep._

 

_It’s easy to find his way down; he’s familiar with the steps, the feel of the carpet against his bare feet and the way he bounces off the last one like he’s a kid again. The yelling is louder, coming to a climax that only bodes ill. There’s a pit in Harry’s stomach and a pressing feeling against his heart that only intensifies when he comes closer to the source of the fight - the kitchen. The lights are still on everywhere so he can see clearly; nothing out of place, except one thing. The alcohol cabinet is open, the one he likes to look at because the bottles behind the glass somehow make him feel like he’s in Potion’s class at Hogwarts. His mom says they’re bad bottles; they make you sick._

 

_Sick is what Harry feels when he hears the shattering glass, followed by a dull thump. And silence._

 

_A silence more violent than the yelling. He’s scared, but he runs towards it. Runs towards the silence like he’ll find his parents sitting at the dinner table smiling like they used to, a long time ago. What he sees instead is worse than the tense stares and glares and broken smiles._

 

Please turn the lights off _, he thinks._ I don’t want to see this. _Not her. Not the lifeless eyes and empty expression. She’s facing the door, as if she was expecting him. Her son. Harry._

 

_The man in the kitchen doesn’t move. He’s looking down at what he did, and Harry would say he looks almost puzzled. Like he doesn’t know what to feel. Harry can’t say he’s familiar with that sensation; the only thing coursing through him is… what is it?_

 

_Rage. White-hot, scorching rage. But there’s nothing to burn inside of him; he’s gone, stolen by sadness. He can feel the flames inside of him growing until he bursts, surging forwards toward the knife block on the counter and grabbing the biggest one he can reach before plunging it into the man’s back. Three times is enough to make him gasp and bring him to his knees before crumpling to the floor._

 

_Harry’s breathing rapidly, the knife falling from his grip. He falls forward and catches himself with his hands, but slips in a warm liquid. His shoulder takes the brunt of his fall and he winces as he pushes himself up onto his knees so he can crawl toward her. She’s gone, slipped through his fingers like water._

 

_‘’Harry?’’_

 

_It’s his sister. She’s standing in the doorway, her nightgown almost comically white and clean compared to what the kitchen looks like. And Harry._

 

_He looks down at his hands. They’re red. Everything is._

 

Harry jolts awake and it feels like the ocean is trapped inside his head, pounding against his skull. His hands are wet and for a moment he sees flashes of red, but it’s just sweat. He’s awake and in his bed. It was a dream. One he hasn’t had for a very long time. If he closes his eyes he can still see his sister’s horror-struck expression.

 

After the incident, when they were dropped off at their grandparents’ house by the police, his sister asked him if he had any regrets. In the darkness of the guest bedroom, his back turned to her, it was easy enough to admit his only regret was not getting there sooner. Not _doing it_ sooner. They weren’t the same after that. Conversations were sparse and rare, until they moved out. Harry’s outbox is full of unanswered emails to her. Another regret; his sister finding out.

 

He’s grateful she didn’t say anything, though. The police ruled it off as domestic violence. Nobody expected a 13-year-old to do anything. Maybe she still loves him. Although it would be easier if she didn’t. He’ll never know.

 

Slowly, he sits up, sighing when he sees he hadn’t managed to completely remove his jeans; one pant leg is still caught around his ankle. He kicks it off and looks over at his alarm clock, groaning when he discovers he has thirty minutes before he has to get up. Today’s not one of those days where you wake up only to see you still have a couple of hours left to sleep. Harry could use some more sleep.

 

All he has to do is drop off some of his work and hope he can go back home quickly, since there’s no reason to stay and sit at his desk anymore. Not without Niall’s occasional visits. The reason for last night’s celebrations was Niall’s promotion; he’s now Sports Editor, which means a lot more work than he used to have as a simple reporter. The lad deserves it, though. Niall’s a hard worker, and he does his job well. Harry’s proud of him. And a little jealous.

 

Maybe it’s better this way. Harry’s current position still leaves him with enough time to take care of other business, and it’s also more forgiving when he happens to have a hangover. Like he has now. He thinks about shooting an angry text to Niall, but he can’t be bothered. Niall will have to face Harry’s wrath at work. When Harry has showered and eaten a decent amount of food. If he can get himself out of his bed. One leg is awkwardly slung over the edge and his head is comfortably nestled in his pillow.

 

‘’Up. Get up,’’ Harry tries to encourage himself. ‘’Up up up.’’ He hauls himself off his bed in one quick movement, but also manages to lose his balance and stumble into his nightstand, the edge painfully digging into his thigh. ‘’ _Fuck_.’’ Biting on his fist stops his eyes from watering just enough so he can tiredly shuffle into his bathroom. At least the pain somewhat woke him up.

 

He’s really looking forward to a hot shower. A meal not so much, but he needs to eat if he wants to survive the day. Harry’s coming up with a plan to take revenge on Niall - it mainly consists of ignoring him and sending glares his way - when he realises he might not have the chance to.

 

 _Stupid promotion_.

 

~•~

 

Despite not getting enough sleep and generally feeling like he accidentally stepped out of his grave, he’s still doing late night research. All day long Harry’s been thinking about The Artist and what they think they’re doing, who they are (not that he’ll ever really know that), and what the article meant with _bloody murals_. An image of _The Creation of Adam_ briefly pops into his mind, but he quickly dismisses that because it’s a ceiling fresco and not a mural.

 

Sometimes his mind feels like an overexcited puppy dropping piles of toys on someone’s lap. There really isn’t anything he can do with the information. That also means it’s working overtime and quickly becoming exhausting.

 

It’s always the never-ending questions, and the answers he does get never make sense, so he’s just stuck with more questions. Who is The Artist? Does his sister hate him? Why did his dad do it? Would Harry’s life be different if he never- if it never happened? What would Liam do if he found out?

 

Why does he feel so lonely?

 

The last one comes out of nowhere and he almost laughs because he doesn’t want to be one of _those_ people. He doesn’t want to be sad. There’s no point in it. Of course he’s not alone, he has friends. They care about him.

 

But he’s still missing something. It’s just a generally incomplete feeling that Harry fears might be permanent. Maybe everyone feels this way? The world is big, after all. A big world also means plenty of crimes, which brings Harry back to his original purpose of finding out more about The Artist.

 

First of all, why the name? A number of articles suggest that they kill their victim and then use their blood to paint a mural. One of them even has an image attached:

 

 

When Harry looks closer, he notices it’s composed of many strokes. Not that it looks like it’s made with a brush; the edges are too round. His suspicions are confirmed when later in the article it’s revealed The Artist uses their hands.

 

Okay, so he’s impressed. This person is amazing at what they do. Maybe even better- no. Harry closes his laptop after exiting his browser and places it on his coffee table so he can stretch on his sofa. His joints hurt from sitting in such an awkward position, and he can feel a tight knot forming in his lower back. He needs to rest. After that he needs to find a new target and show this Artist that they need to mind their own business.

 

They definitely have Harry’s attention. Now it’s his turn.

 

~•~

 

There never seems to be a shortage of targets for Harry, and that should worry him. It should make him angry, absolutely livid that this world is such an incredibly fucked up place, but it doesn’t. Not this time. It actually excites him. Even so much that he doesn’t notice it’s Friday and Liam hasn’t called him to make plans with him like he usually does. Until he receives a phone-call. From said friend.

 

For a moment Harry just stares at his phone screen, startled by himself that he just _forgot_ , but also because it’s 11 in the evening. Liam never calls this late to make plans, says it’s useless when there’s not much time left to do anything. Harry answers the call and puts it on speaker, feeling somewhat nervous.

 

‘’Harry!’’ Liam sounds excited. Harry can hear music in the background. Nothing too loud, just music to fill up a room.

 

‘’Hey, Liam.’’

 

‘’Heeeey.’’ He sounds a bit… off. Harry turns the speaker off and holds his phone to his ear, hoping to catch anything else.

 

‘’Liam?’’ There’s no answer, and Harry’s starting to get worried. ‘’Are you okay?’’

 

‘’Harry! Yes, I’m allkay. Really good.’’ Liam’s snickers can be heard through the phone, that silly donkey laugh he does when he thinks he made a clever joke. ‘’Get it? Allkay?’’

 

Harry sighs deeply, closing his laptop so he can focus on the conversation. ‘’Yes, very clever. Where are you?’’

 

Apparently Liam doesn’t detect the urgency in Harry’s voice, which should generally be a warning to not make jokes. ‘’I’m here. Having a great time!’’

 

‘’Are you drunk?’’ He can hear voices in the background, but not enough to indicate Liam’s anywhere in public. Harry’s praying he didn’t go home with a stranger.

 

‘’No! I feel good, though.’’ Liam coughs a few times before continuing. ‘’Like, very zen. You should try to relax like this. It’s good.’’

 

‘’Who are you with?’’

 

Another snicker, followed by a cough. ‘’My Louis, of course!’’

 

‘’Okay, give him the phone. I need to talk to him.’’ Or yell, but he doesn’t say that.

‘’Be nice to him-‘’

 

‘’ _Liam._ ’’

 

‘’Yeah okay.’’ There’s some rustling on the other side as the phone is handed over and Harry has to take a deep breath when it’s very obviously dropped. For a moment the music in the background increases in volume before it’s gone entirely, the unmistakable sound of a closing door telling him the person on the other end has moved to another room.

 

‘’Sup Harold?’’ Harry rolls his eyes at the nickname. Or maybe Louis genuinely believes his name is Harold. It wouldn’t surprise him; he’s been too preoccupied with Liam.

 

‘’What’s wrong with Liam?’’

 

Louis huffs. He sounds annoyed. ‘’Get right to the point why don’t you?’’ He pauses briefly, and that’s a mistake. ‘’He’s fine.’’’

 

‘’Is he drunk? He didn’t sound drunk to me.’’

 

‘ _’Harry_.’’ So he _does_ know his name. ‘’Maybe a little bit? We’re jus’ having fun.’’

 

‘’Just tell me.’’ Harry has his suspicions, but he hopes they’re not true.

 

‘’Alright, so we might have smoked some.’’

 

Harry doesn’t quite feel his stomach drop. It’s more of a pathetic anticlimactic flop. ‘’Some what?’’

 

‘’Jesus _Christ_ , do I have to spell it out for you?’’ Louis sounds ticked off – in a defensive way. Like he’s been caught red-handed. ‘’You know what I’m talking about.’’

 

‘’Just perfect.’’

 

‘’What’s got your knickers in a twist?’’

 

Harry has to bite his tongue to stay calm. ‘’You know it’s _illeg_ -‘’

 

‘’Yeah I’m not stupid. We know what we’re doing!’’ Louis is raising his voice and it makes Harry’s hair stand on edge because he’s still – people yelling just make him uncomfortable.

 

‘’That’s what everyone likes to think,’’ Harry points out, slipping down his position on the couch so he’s burrowed in the pillows. If he stands up and starts pacing he might actually kick something.

 

‘’Stop being such a stick-in-the-mud. No wonder Liam didn’t want to invite you.’’

 

Harry’s heart skips a bit, or stutters more like. ‘’What?’’

 

‘’I told Liam he could bring you along, but he said that would be a bad idea.’’ There’s a pause, and Harry almost wishes the connection was lost. ‘’Now I see why.’’

 

It’s infuriating because Harry _knows_ what Louis is doing but goddamnit, it’s working. He can feel the burning in the back of his throat and that faint throbbing in his head. He tries to swallow around the lump in his throat but his voice still comes out hoarse. ‘’He probably – Maybe he just…’’

 

‘’Oh, go cry to your mother.’’

 

 _That_ does it. Without another word, Harry hangs up and drops his phone on the floor. He doesn’t even care if the screen might crack. He doesn’t care about anything anymore.

 

Not even the fact that he’s crying, which he hasn’t done in years, phases him. He’s just watching the ceiling blur in and out of sight as the tears fill up his eyes and spill over until they’re filled up again. All because of that _stupid_ comment.

 

Harry tries not to miss her. He still thinks about her occasionally, to remind himself of how blessed he was to have had her as his mom – even for as short as it was. Just that fact makes him happy and helps him move on, with all the happy memories to fuel him. Everything they had together was beautiful.

 

What he never thinks about is what they _didn’t_ have, because that was so much more. Too much that he can’t even fathom what he’ll miss. Everything he can’t share with her; his first love and his last, his successes and his failures. His graduation. And those are just the big moments. The ones you can pick out because you’re certain they’ll happen.

 

Small moments are uncertain, filled with everything and nothing. Laughing at an inside joke, doing embarrassing things in public, leaning his head against her shoulder with his eyes closed and nothing but her perfume filling his senses. The last one might be a memory, he’s not sure. If he thinks hard enough he can feel the swaying of a car, remember an uneven road and nothing but silence. Just the comfort of your loved one's’ presence.

 

It’s Harry’s happiest memory, strangely enough. There are no words to be forgotten. Some moments don’t need words. Thinking about it makes him indescribably sad. Of all memories it’s this one; the happiest _and_ most painful one.

 

Harry bites back a sob, breathing through his mouth when his nose doesn’t allow it anymore. Every time he thinks about the warmth of her shoulder it’s like a punch in the gut, but it brings him relief. To know he still cares, that her memory isn’t going to waste. She will always matter.

 

Sometimes he just wonders if he does.

 

~•~

 

Liam calls the next day, but Harry doesn’t answer. There’s a residue of last night’s contempt and grief in him, and he doesn’t want to take it out on his best friend. So he stays inside all day, drawing and looking up information on his next target. He also tries to keep an eye on The Artist’s movement, if there’s anything new on them. It keeps him occupied and distracted, and if you combine that with his favourite album on loop, his day really isn’t that bad.

 

Until the doorbell goes off. Harry makes sure to close his laptop before he goes to open the door, catching a glimpse of the time displayed on the screen. It’s late in the evening already; the entire day just passed by and he barely noticed. His stomach rumbles in protest.

 

When Harry opens the door, the first thing he notices is the smell of pizza. And then he sees Liam, looking like someone stole his puppy. Liam clears his throat and nods towards the box he’s holding. ‘’Sorry pizza?’’

 

Harry feels his exterior cracking, a smile creeping up on his face. It feels almost foreign. ‘’Come on then.’’ He opens the door wider to let Liam in and goes to get drinks and napkins, while his friend gets settled on the couch. Rules for sorry pizza involve eating it on the couch. No tables or plates involved.

 

Once they’re settled and Harry has devoured his first slice – Liam bought veggie pizza for Harry, even if he’s not too fond of it himself – there’s a tension in the air. Eventually, Liam talks first.

 

‘’I’m sorry for last night.’’ He’s silent after that, obviously choosing his words carefully. Harry appreciates that. Liam often has trouble staying silent, spewing out whatever thought comes up, so when he actually takes his time to think about what he’s going to say means he thinks it’s pretty important. In the meantime, Harry takes his time to eat.

 

Liam takes a sip of his soda, tracing his finger around the rim of the can. ‘’I’m also not entirely sure what happened after the phone call. I mean, I gave it to Louis and then he said you hung up.’’

 

‘’I did.’’

 

‘’Okay.’’ Liam nods, placing his drink on the table and folding his hands together. ‘’I didn’t invite you at first because I thought, well, I _knew_ you wouldn’t approve.’’

 

‘’You think I’m a stick-in-the-mud?’’

 

‘’No! It’s not that.’’ Liam frowns, avoiding Harry’s gaze. ‘’I was afraid you’d be disappointed. Like, I care about what you think, yeah?’’

 

‘’Oh, Liam.’’ Harry squeezes his best friend’s shoulder. ‘’Why would I be disappointed? Worried, yes. But that’s just because I don’t want you to get in trouble. You didn’t do anything bad.’’

 

Liam blinks at him, seemingly surprised by Harry’s words. ‘’So, we’re good?’’

 

‘’We’re good,’’ Harry echoes, letting his hand slide from Liam’s shoulder.

 

‘’Something else happened.’’ It’s not a question. Liam knows Harry too well.

 

‘’Just a stupid comment. Louis didn’t know.’’ Harry’s not sure if he wants to talk about it. He doesn’t want to mess things up between Liam and Louis, because in the end he doesn’t want his friend to blame him for coming between them.

 

The look Liam gives him tells him he’s well aware of what Harry’s thinking. ‘’Tell me everything, from the start. I know Lou has a temper _and_ a broken filter.’’

 

‘’Yeah, I noticed.’’ Harry decides it might be best to just tell him, because it’s what Liam wants. And it’s one thing Harry _can_ tell. So he replays the entire conversation out loud, suddenly nervous when he feels his friend’s intense look and wincing when his voice threatens to break at the last part. ‘’-But he doesn’t know. Right?’’

 

Liam shakes his head. ‘’No, he doesn’t.’’ He scoots closer to Harry, pulling him into his side. Harry uses the opportunity to bury his face in Liam’s shoulder, breathe in his warm scent. Liam only knows the official story; domestic violence. Tragic death. But it’s better this way.

 

‘’I don’t understand why it still affects me this much,’’ Harry whispers, sniffling softly. ‘’It happened a decade ago.’’ Liam’s hand squeezes the back of his neck, and Harry melts into the touch.

 

‘’Time can’t heal all wounds. Some are simply too deep.’’

 

Harry can feel himself dozing off. It’s the comfort Liam brings him that makes everything lighter and easier. He would take on the world for him, because he knows at the end of the day, his friend will be there. Maybe he is – taking on the world one by one, slowly and carefully. Someone has to do it.

 

Liam tries to move away, but Harry holds onto his t-shirt. ‘’Please stay.’’

 

‘’Okay.’’

 

The last thing Harry’s aware of before he falls asleep is two strong arms lifting him up.

 

 

_There’s a storm coming._

 

_Or is it already here?_

 

_Harry’s standing on the edge of a small dock, the ocean spread out in front of him. He can’t look behind him. Maybe he’s scared what he’ll find, or maybe it’s not as important as what’s in front of him. The water is restless, dark and cold. It washes over his bare feet, sprays against his knees._

 

_Why is he naked? Why didn’t he come prepared?_

 

_The sky looks foreboding, mirroring the ocean. He’s cold. Shivering. Clouds overhead turn black, a flash of red brightens the sky. Harry is expecting to hear a deep rumble, but instead hears shattering glass._

 

_The sky shatters. All the clouds break apart and rain down in red shards of glass, slicing deep into his skin. The ocean turns red and Harry falls down to his knees. He can’t look at himself, can’t see the damage._

 

_‘’Harry?’’_

 

 

He can still hear the echoes of his sister’s voice when he wakes up. When he slides his hands over his arms he feels smooth and healthy skin, no evidence of any harm done. Of course it was just a dream. He’s in his bed, but he has no memory of getting there. Then he remembers the arms lifting him up, and he climbs out of bed to see if Liam left already.

 

The living room is empty. Everything is cleaned up and the TV is turned off. There’s a light on in the kitchen, one of the smaller ones, but big enough to allow him to see where he’s going. Harry sees the outline of a note attached to his fridge and he takes it over to the small light so he can read what it says:

 

_Got called in for work. I’ll have a word with Louis later. Call me? X_

 

Liam always goes out of his way to make him feel better. Even if it’s just by doing small things, like leaving a note and making sure that Harry knows he’s not forgotten.

 

It makes Harry feel just a little less lonely.

 

~•~

 

Harry can’t afford to be picky. Not with his targets. There are more than enough in this world, but not so much that live in the same city or have information about them spread on the internet. He’s already going out of his way by taking a subway, carrying a small backpack filled with some necessities, like clean clothes if he needs them. Anything might happen and he needs to be prepared.

 

It's late in the evening and he's surrounded by tired looking people. Some of them appear to be asleep, heads tilted back and eyes closed. One thing he loves about the big city is the anonymity. There’s nobody paying attention to what anyone else does because they’re all caught up in their own business, just like he is, in a way. They’re all passing faces to him, not worth noticing or remembering.

 

When he finally reaches his stop he gets out in a hurry, hoping he can still catch his target before he leaves work. He’s the owner of a small printing company, but was charged with harassment of his employees along with holding back large sums of money. He was cleared of all charges when there seemed to be no concrete evidence. Harry thinks he must have bribed someone, somewhere. In short, he’s corrupted. Vile, predatory. And a perfect target.

 

It’s only a short walk to where the shop is located, and where he’ll hopefully find his target. All he had to do was look up the closing hours and make sure he would be there in time to see the owner leave so that he can follow him home. It’s a simple plan, but works every time. Although it gets tricky if they get in a car and drive off. That’s happened multiple times already, but it doesn’t really throw Harry off. He always finds a way.

 

As soon as he makes it there, he’s relieved to find out that there’s still someone inside. A man is pacing inside, talking urgently on the phone. Harry’s pretty sure it’s his target, even from a distance he can make out some of the defining features; broad, stocky figure and short dark hair. He also appears to be shorter than Harry. That should give him an advantage.

 

Harry lingers outside for a while, trying to remain inconspicuous by leaning against the side of a building and pretending to mess about on his phone. He drops his act as soon as he notices movement on the other side of the street; his target is closing up the shop and starts walking in a hurried pace. Harry follows to the best of his ability, keeping his distance while he tries not to lose sight of the man.

 

Eventually he sits down at a bus stop and Harry’s steps falter, unsure of what to do. He can’t just stand in the middle of the street, but taking a seat or standing near his target seems a bit risky. However, before he makes a decision, the bus already arrives, rolling to a slow stop and opening its doors. He avoids any eye-contact and sits a few seats behind his target, placing his backpack on his lap and folding his hands over each other.

 

The sky is starting to darken outside and the city lights are slowly starting to come to life. Harry can see his reflection in the bus window and tucks a strand of hair back in his bun when he sees it’s loose. He looks back at himself calmly, wondering how much an expression really gives away. If by looking at him, someone could tell what he was planning. What he’s really like. Even Liam isn’t suspicious, so it must not reveal much. This worries him. It means it works the other way around as well. There could be things he doesn’t know, things that are hidden from him.

 

Harry takes a deep breath, stopping his train of thought. Liam isn’t like that. He’s Liam, and Harry knows him.

 

His gaze shoots to the front again when the bus stops, the action making him tilt forward a bit. Harry gets up quickly when he sees his target’s getting off the bus and follows him outside. He pretends to go the other way, but turns again when there’s a fair distance between them.

 

They’re in the older part of the city, where the houses don’t look so fresh anymore and the streets generally feel cold; there’s no summer vibe here, no liveliness. It’s dark outside now, which only enhances that atmosphere. Harry stops and hides in the shadows when his target walks up a set of small steps and unlocks the door to his house. So now that Harry knows where the man lives, he only has to figure out how to get inside.

 

He makes sure to count the houses, and when he knows which one is the right one, he looks for the nearest alley leading to the backs of the buildings. It’s all pretty easy from there. Usually, anyway. When he reaches the house the window appears to be too high, so he has to slide over a dumpster. In order to do that quietly, he has to do it _incredibly_ slow. It’s agonizing.

 

By the time he’s finished, he’s breathing heavy and has to be careful not to touch his clammy forehead with his gloved hands. He uses the wall to kick off and climb up on the dumpster, staying low so he doesn’t appear in front of the window. There are no lights on, which allows him to see inside. This window leads into the kitchen and he’s glad to find he won’t have to climb over a counter filled with clutter. _That_ would have put a stopper on his plans. He’s not climbing over potentially noisy objects.

 

The window is slightly opened already so it’s easy enough to lift it up and fit through. Harry has to think fast now, because he’s exposed. There is no way to hide and he doesn’t know where his target is. A large steel pan attracts his attention. It looks sturdy and has a long handle he can hold onto. It’s also recently used and not clean, but that’s not important. He picks it up and tests its weight, nodding to himself when he discovers it’s heavy and he needs two hands to comfortably hold it. _What_ does he cook in this? It smells, and Harry wrinkles his nose while he tries to listen for any movement.

 

There are muffled sounds, coming from a television no doubt. There’s a small strip of light coming from under the kitchen door, which tells Harry he’s likely next to the living room. He stands next to it, pressing himself as close to the wall as possible. Next, he needs to test his swing. He holds the pan out in front of him and in the middle of the door, where he suspects his target’s head will be at. Then he pulls back as far as he can, and swings it forward, stopping short of the door. He tries it another time, and on the third try-

 

He hits a cabinet. _Fuck_. He pulled back too far and-

 

‘’Who’s there?!’’

 

 _Shitshitshit_. Harry’s breathing heavily, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He’s ready, pan in position and eyes trained on the door. If it comes down to a fight, Harry knows he could take the man. But he doesn’t want to. There are so many reasons to avoid a fight.

 

Harry can hear his heart beating almost as loudly as the footsteps that are approaching the door. _Thump thump thump_. Almost there. The handle tilts down, and the door creaks open. A man steps forward, and with all his might, Harry swings. There’s a loud noise and the sound of cracking bone, followed by a thud that’s almost laughably soft in comparison.

 

His heart is still going wild in his chest when he steps out of his hiding spot and under the doorframe. In front of him, on the floor, is his target. The man's nose is obviously broken; bent in an awkward shape and steadily oozing blood. Still alive, though. For now.

 

Harry goes back into the kitchen and looks for a light switch. Once he finds it, he disposes of the pan and searches the drawers for cutlery. Finally he finds something that actually makes him shiver. A delightful thrill runs through him when he picks up the large knife. It's as big as his forearm and beautifully sharp.

 

He removes his garden gloves and puts them in his backpack so they won't get stained with blood, and makes his way over to the living room, where he stands in the center and just looks around for a bit. It's a good room with large walls, painted white and fortunately (for him) void of any picture frames. This man doesn't seem to be the family type. It also means he won't be missed. Probably.

 

The man's still out cold, but Harry knows he needs to hurry and get on with it. Even if he'd rather wait a bit, experience the thrill of the buildup and excitement a little longer. He's like a little kid pretending the rollercoaster isn't about to end. Reluctant for the fun to stop.

 

When he walks back towards the man and crouches over him, he's struck by a sudden desire. The desire to strap him up and make him suffer. To see horror and pain in his eyes before they become void of life. Harry wants the last thing the man sees to be him; the face of justice, and his end. He wants the man to _know_ he is going to die and is powerless to stop it.

 

But Harry decides against it. He can't get carried away and he can't afford to make mistakes. So it's quick and simple; one stab in the heart. The knife sinks in beautifully, with no resistance whatsoever. He stabs again just for good measure, enjoying the sight of the dark blood on the shiny metal. It looks thick and warm, and Harry wishes he could feel it on his bare hands again. It reminds him of holding his hands under warm water; he likes to keep them under the running tap when he takes a bath. Such a lovely, soothing feeling.

 

He just needs a way to collect the blood so he can use it for his next step. While he takes his time to carve his symbol into the man's forehead, he also tries to think of the most efficient way to drain someone's blood. Maybe he didn't think this through enough. The neck should do, however.

 

There is a bowl in the kitchen that looks large enough, so he takes it with him and kneels next to his victim. For a moment he stands there holding the bowl, wondering how he’s going to do this. The few decorative pillows on the couch can be used to prop him up so the bowl won’t flip over

 

‘’Smart thinking.’’ Harry nods at himself as he executes his plan and manages to get it working. Just barely. He picks up the knife from where he left it and uses it to make a cut in the man’s neck, just where the largest vein is. Despite there being no heartbeat, the blood still rushes out and steadily leaks into the bowl. It’s dark and glimmers in the low light, looking so… Harry shakes his head and stands up, noticing his breathing has become irregular.

 

Something is different, but he doesn’t know what. A subtle change that’s unsettling because he knows it’s there, yet he can’t think of _what_ it is. Something is missing. Harry makes himself move the furniture away from the wall so he has enough space to work with, and once he’s done and stands in the silent room, it hits him.

 

It’s _silent_. His head is silent. There is no breaking glass or flashes of red. His sister’s voice…

 

What changed? He bites down on his lip and forces the thoughts away from his head. There is something that needs to be done and he needs to hurry. It’s never smart to linger. The bowl seems adequately filled, so he picks it up carefully and places it on a table that previously held a lamp. He make sure his gloves are still in good shape and then stares at the wall.

 

‘’Really?!’’ Harry hisses, having to fight the urge to pull at his hair. Right now is not the time to get artist’s block. His mind is blank. Maybe he just needs to do something simple, something that will get his point across; don’t mess with him. Don’t mock him. He’s no Artist, and the other person shouldn’t try to be Bane. This is Harry’s, _his_ thing.

 

He dips two fingers inside the bowl and resolutely draws his symbol on the wall. Of course it doesn’t go on like paint, it stains the wall more and doesn’t really glide on as much. Once he’s drawn one symbol Harry takes a step back to look at it. He cocks his head and grins. ‘’Cool.’’

 

After that he paints on a few more until he feels satisfied and has used a fair amount of the blood. There is still some left, and an idea is already brewing inside his head. He doesn’t need to be symbolic to get a message across, so he scoops up as much blood as he can and applies it to the wall in thick strokes, until the message is loud and clear:

 

 _I am Bane._ He underlines the ‘I’ for good measure. He breathes a laugh and starts cleaning up; he can’t just take bloody gloves home with him. Being prepared is only one half of the job. The other half consists of taking care of your footprints and making sure you’re leaving no clues.

 

And when he’s done with that, all he has to do is wait.

 

~•~

 

Waiting is not one of his strong suits. Not that it’s ever been a _problem_ , he’s always thought of himself as somewhat patient, willing enough to wait for some things, but this… He’s continuously checking any possible news source for developments. There was an article about himself and he quickly skimmed that to make sure the Artist would get the message. Harry was happy to see the writer of the article did their job and conveyed the message just right. But now Harry’s waiting, getting anxious for a response. It’s the worst kind of waiting and just the kind he is bad at. Maybe because he’s had too much experience with it. He doesn’t like thinking about all the unanswered emails to his sister. Doesn’t want to know what it means.

 

Harry shocks himself when his best friend calls and he responds in an unfriendly manner, because he’s agitated and impatient. It’s been a week without any news.

 

‘’Whoa, what’s got your knickers in a bunch?’’ Liam sounds affronted, and Harry feels guilty right away.

 

‘’It’s nothing. Just frustrated, I’m sorry.’’ Harry repositions himself on his couch and considers the possibility that he might be getting slightly obsessed. No, it’s not _that_ bad. Plus, he has a good reason; it’s important to know if this person is going to cause any trouble and if-

 

‘’Are you listening?’’

 

‘’What?’’ Harry blurts, realising he must have tuned out of the conversation.

 

‘’You didn’t get any of that, did you?’’ Liam sighs heavily, but he doesn’t really sound annoyed. ‘’In short; I talked to Louis and now he wants to talk to you to sort things out.’’

 

‘’You really like him, don’t you?’’ Harry knows his best friend, and he also knows Liam wouldn’t go to such lengths if he didn’t feel something for a person. Him trying to fix things between Harry and Louis obviously means he sees a future, somewhere.

 

‘’Guess I do.’’

 

‘’You don’t sound so sure.’’ There’s a long pause, a Liam-is-thinking-pause that Harry knows not to disturb.

 

‘’It’s just so different. _He_ is different.’’

 

Harry twirls one of his curls around his finger, listening intently. ‘’Good or bad different?’’

 

‘’Good, definitely. In all of my previous relationships, I’ve never felt challenged. Like, they were too much like me, in a way. It was safe, yeah. Comfortable, but...’’ Liam trails off, as if he isn’t sure what words he’s looking for.

 

‘’There was no fire,’’ Harry says for him. ‘’They became too much like a friendship.’’

 

‘’Yeah, that.’’ Liam’s voice sounds small. Past relationships is a sensitive subject for him.

 

‘’He complements you. In just the right way. That’s difficult to find.’’ Even if Harry might not get along with Louis, he’s willing to try for his best friend.

 

‘’You think so?’’

 

‘’Yes,’’ Harry says, and he means it. He would never agree with Liam just to please him, not if his happiness is at stake.

 

‘’Thank you, means a lot.’’ Liam takes a deep breath and Harry can hear the closing of a door in the background. ‘’All right, let me know when you’ve got time so we can set something up for you and Lou.’’

 

Harry rubs his eyes tiredly. ‘’Will do.’’

 

‘’Goodnight.’’

 

Harry hangs up after wishing Liam a good night and simply sits on his couch, staring at the phone in his hand. He’s caught in one of those rare moments when he’s suddenly aware of his life moving forward, of others moving forward. Things are changing, even now, even when he’s not in school anymore and has no more big steps to take. Maybe there are steps he hasn’t anticipated. There are things he hasn’t and couldn’t see coming.

 

What on earth could come next?

 

~•~

 

_It’s nighttime. That’s the only thing he knows._

 

_Harry’s standing in a small unknown town square, facing an old wooden church with battered doors and dirty windows. Behind him is a small fountain, although the stone is worn and it contains no water. The houses surrounding him look plain and empty._

 

_Where is he?_

 

_It looks abandoned and he doesn’t see how he could have gotten here. He’s still in his pajamas. He’d never go somewhere undressed. What is going on?_

 

_His breathing speeds up, and he stumbles around on his bare feet. The rough stones feel cold and the moon above him doesn’t provide him with any warmth. Harry’s growing anxious; inspecting the houses doesn’t help, nobody is home. Just as he expected._

 

_‘’Hello?’’ he calls out, but his voice sounds incredibly soft. He can barely hear himself, the only thing he can hear are his thoughts, loud and clear in his head. And the ocean. It’s getting closer, the rushing waves are getting louder, the noise beating against his eardrums. He can’t hear anymore, it’s as if his ears are full of water, everything is muffled._

 

_‘’Hello?’’ he tries again, but this time he hears nothing. Or maybe his voice stopped working? He doesn’t know anymore. He’s slowly losing all his senses. He can only feel the cold stones against his feet and the goosebumps tickling his arms._

 

 _Harry walks back towards the middle of the square, to the fountain. He could sit here and wait, wait until dawn. Until someone finds him._ If _someone finds him. This place is desolate, he’s the only one around and the only one stupid enough to visit here. The stone of the fountain is cold, too cold. He can’t sit down; he has to keep moving or else he’ll freeze to death._

 

_As he paces back and forth, something catches his eye. Something glimmering behind the church, something massive. Harry turns, and holds his breath. He found the ocean. Or is it looking for him? It’s coming for him at rapid speed, the wave towering over everything. The ground is shaking, the fountain slowly breaks apart, loose bits of stone skittering across the square._

 

_Suddenly, a warm hand envelops his own. When he looks to his side, he sees his sister. She’s wearing her white nightgown, but it’s red. Covered in blood. She doesn’t seem to mind, because she’s smiling at him. A warm, genuine smile. It makes her look so much like their mother. Harry feels a pang in his chest and his breath stutters, but his sister squeezes his hand. It’s comforting._

 

_The large wave swallows the church, the moon and the stars, but it doesn’t take away the warmth blooming through Harry’s chest and the feeling that somewhere out there is a home waiting for him._

 

 

Harry wakes up in a cold sweat, shivering under his sheets and unable to open his eyes. His brain is in shambles, and it takes him a while before he remembers what day it is and what just happened. He had a call with Liam and then went to sleep. One look at his alarm clock reveals it's probably too early to get out of bed.

 

However, no matter how hard he tries, he can't fall back asleep. His feet are cold and it sounds like someone put washing machines in his ears; a weird, churning echo that makes him want to yell and possibly throw something. He thinks of how satisfying it would be to throw a vase, only to realise he doesn't have one. How could he not have a vase? Perhaps he should try to decorate more. This new sudden train of thought prompts him to text Liam:

 

_Harry: Do you think I'm single because of my tasteless decorating?_

 

_Liam: yeah. stench doesn't help either._

 

Liam's reply comes almost instantly, and Harry bites down on his bottom lip, feeling somewhat guilty for maybe waking him up.

 

_Harry: Wow, thanks. Why are you awake?_

 

_Liam: fire is still a thing._

 

So he- of course. Harry remembers that Liam had a very early shift. He's still groggy and tired, his eyes stinging with sleep.

 

_Harry: I remember._

 

_Liam: congrats. want cake? lol_

 

_Harry: You know your birthday is coming up soon so you better be nice!_

 

_Liam: omg go to sleep harold._

 

_Harry: Please not you, too._

 

_Liam: deal with itt._

 

 

Harry throws down his phone somewhere on his bed and rolls over. He puts his feet in the warmest corner he can reach and buries his face in his pillow. The nights are getting colder, a cruel reminder that summer is almost over and the year is coming to an end. Harry likes warm weather. Not hot, just warm and sunny so you can still walk around in a T-shirt and don’t have to worry about layering. He always manages to get cold.

 

Thinking about cold reminds him of his dream, and he wonders what it was about. He saw his sister, and she smiled at him. But it wasn’t her smile. It was his mother’s, because he can’t remember what his sister’s looks like. Harry swallows the lump in his throat and focuses on his breathing to dispel the bad thoughts, the ones that make him sad and anxious.

 

Before he falls asleep again he sees his sister’s face, or he thinks he does. Just a flash, a blurry image behind his eyelids, but it sticks in his mind like glue.

 

Why can’t he remember her smile?

 

~•~

 

It’s a crisp Friday night and they’re out celebrating Liam’s birthday, even when it’s two weeks away. But they’re adults with busy schedules now, and that’s just how it works. The big ‘party’ is for another night; right now they’re heading to a nightclub after a nice meal at Liam’s favourite place, walking the busy streets.

 

Harry had a brief chat with Louis in the corner of the restaurant and they came to the mutual agreement that they’d try to get along for the sake of Liam. Louis also apologised, and that was that, really. Plus, when Liam asks for something it’s hard to refuse, especially when he uses the sad puppy eyes. So if he wants them to be friends, that’s fine. Harry can do that.

 

Harry can also stare daggers into the back of Louis’ head without anyone noticing. He’s up front with Liam, holding hands with him and happily skipping about. Okay, fine, he doesn’t hate him, but there’s something about him that rubs Harry the wrong way. Not that he believes he’s a bad person. A bad influence, maybe. He’s hoping some of Liam’s good behavior will rub off on- now he’s thinking about rubbing off, which - _bad, no._ Harry groans and looks at Niall walking next to him, but he’s only paying attention to his phone.

 

‘’Hey.’’ Harry nudges him gently. ‘’You been to this place before?’’

 

Niall shakes his head. ‘’Never got ‘round to it.’’

 

‘’You mean you’d rather stay inside and watch sports?’’

 

Niall looks affronted, pressing a hand to his chest. ‘’I am a simple man, who enjoys the peace of his own home.’’ With a frown, he adds ‘’What’s your excuse, anyway?’’ Harry fake coughs and quickly scuttles away, joining his arm with Liam, who barely even acknowledges it.

 

Niall soon is at Harry’s side again, poking it harshly with his finger. ‘’You can not escape me!’’

 

This catches Liam’s attention. ‘’What’s going on?’’

 

‘’Harold won’t tell me what _his_ excuse is for staying inside all the time.’’ Harry knows Niall uses the nickname on purpose, just to annoy him.

 

Liam looks back and forth between them, then snorts. ‘’He doesn’t have one; he’s just lazy.’’

 

‘’Excuse me, Liam?’’ Harry untangles their arms and roughly shoves his hands in his pockets. Or tries to, anyway. His jeans are too tight and he misses them entirely, so he crosses his arms instead. ‘’I don’t know why I’m still friends with you.’’

 

‘’You love me.’’ Liam moves to ruffle Harry’s hair, but he stops him mid-air.

 

‘’Yea, can’t imagine how that happened.’’

 

‘’I can,’’ Louis enters the conversation, and everyone stops in their tracks. There are a few angry people bumping into them from behind, but they pay them no attention.

 

‘’What are you saying?’’ Liam looks shocked. And hopeful.

 

Louis seems to hesitate for a second, glancing at everyone nervously. ‘’I mean...’’

 

‘’It’s only been a few weeks!’’  Harry exclaims, earning a slap on the head from Liam.

 

‘’Shut up, Harry.’’

 

Niall walks over to Louis, wiping away fake tears. ‘’I can’t believe it! My son is in love!’’ He pulls Louis into his chest, weeping dramatically. ‘’All grown up!’’

 

Harry watches the whole ordeal, utterly perplexed. Everyone is so _happy_. He doesn’t understand. Of course he has read books about falling in love, and the eventual heartbreak. He is familiar with the concept. Just not the actual experience that’s described, and he never expected it to be _real_. This moment proves him wrong; Liam proves him wrong, all the time. You can’t put a timer on love, it just happens - during a romantic dinner, or in the middle of the street.

 

He’s quiet the rest of the way, looking at all the faces that pass him. When nobody really pays any attention to him, he starts to wonder if he’ll ever fall in love. If he will ever be so lucky. Louis looks at Liam like he’s the sun, but that’s Liam. He looks friendly and warm. You just feel safe around him. Harry, not so much. He can come across as cold and uncaring, maybe a bit indifferent. Yet Liam chose him as a friend.

 

So he’s been lucky once. Harry doesn’t expect it to happen a second time.

 

~•~

 

It goes like he expected; he’s still stuck at the table while the rest is out dancing, nursing his drink and watching the dance floor like a hawk. Not so bad as the venue with the sticky tables. At least he has a seat and a better drink (something sweet and fruity that feels like an attack on his taste buds).

 

Harry just doesn’t enjoy being pressed up against strangers and sharing their sweat. Or having people step on his feet and spill drinks on him. Something always happens, so now he prefers to stay on the sidelines and simply enjoy the music and some drinks (not always paid for by himself). Admittedly, there’s not much to do, so he spends the majority of the time on his phone, scrolling through news apps to see if there’s anything yet. It’s been quiet for too long. Maybe his plan worked and the Artist actually listened, but that thought doesn’t necessarily please him. It’s odd, but he’s been looking forward to it; another report to get him going. Harry’s been waiting for it, a reason to get out and do something creative. See if he can get his message across.

 

What also excites him is that nobody knows. He can look around this nightclub, see the people carelessly dancing to the loud pounding beat, and know that they have no idea. There’s nothing more satisfying than successfully keeping a secret. Well, maybe just a few things.

 

When the news apps provide him with nothing new, he moves on to more boring things, like social media and his email. As soon as he taps on the little icon, his heart stops.

 

There’s a reply.

 

She replied.

 

Gemma, his sister, sent him an email. And he’s going to read it in the middle of a fucking club. Maybe it’s a good thing he’s had a few drinks. What if it’s a message telling him to stop trying to contact her? His shaking finger hovers over the email, a nauseating fear creeping into his system. He feels light headed, but determined. With one deep breath, he taps on the unread message.

 

_Dear Harry,_

 

_I don’t quite know how to begin. It’s been years and I have never once responded to your messages, yet I kept them in my inbox, unread. A few weeks have passed since your last one, but I hope you’re still using this address, as I have no other way to contact you._

 

_My husband said I should contact you. You’re my only brother. Maybe we should patch things up, or see if we want to after getting to know each other more. I’m still not sure about this, but I trust his judgment. At least we would have tried, you know?_

 

_Gemma_

 

 

His sister. She doesn’t love him, but neither does she hate him. She kept his messages, but didn’t read them. Harry doesn’t know what to think, he’s just overwhelmed, silent tears leaving shiny trails on his cheeks. _His sister_. Gemma contacted him.

 

Almost like he has a sixth sense for it, Liam rushes over to the table and slides into the booth next to Harry, patting his cheek. He always does this, finds Harry when he needs to. He’s a lifesaver.

 

‘’What’s wrong? What happened?’’ Liam sounds distressed, wiping at the tear tracks and looking at him with big eyes.

 

‘’Gemma,’’ Harry chokes on a sob. He hasn’t said her name in so long, it feels foreign. ‘’Gemma,’’ he says again, his sight going blurry.

 

‘’Your sister?’’ Liam seems confused. He knows they haven’t spoken in years and he knows that it’s a sensitive subject for Harry, but he doesn’t know what really happened. For obvious reasons.

 

Harry bites on his bottom lip, nodding his head. ‘’S-she has a _husband_.’’ His shoulders are shaking and snot is dripping out of his nose. He doesn’t care if it looks unattractive, or that Liam has to wipe it away with a napkin. ‘’What if she has k-kids?’’ He buries his face in Liam’s neck, taking in huge gulps of air and trying to clear his head. It’s too much, everything is too much. The alcohol, the music, the flashing lights, his sister.

 

‘’I’m sorry.’’ Harry pulls back, taking a clean napkin so he can wipe away the snot and tears on Liam’s neck. It doesn’t help much; he was sticky to begin with, sweat clinging to his skin and cheeks red.

 

‘’Don’t, it’s okay.’’ Liam uses his own napkin to wipe at Harry’s nose again, ruffling his hair afterwards. It makes Harry giggle like a child, followed by a loud hiccup.

 

‘’We must look ridiculous.’’

 

‘’Sure it’s just you, mate.’’

 

Harry laughs again, grabbing Liam’s hand where it’s resting on the table. ‘’She emailed me.’’

 

‘’That’s good, right?’’ Liam squeezes his hand, rubbing his thumb softly over Harry’s knuckles.

 

‘’Yeah, it’s good.’’ Harry wipes at his eyes, inhaling deeply and feeling the pressure in his chest slowly dissolve until he’s just tired, and happy. ‘’Amazing, really.’’

 

Liam pulls him into a firm hug, pressing their cheeks together. ‘’I’m happy for you.’’

 

‘’Love you.’’ Harry feels like he doesn’t tell him that enough. There are so many things about Liam that he loves, but he never tells him. So many moments where he feels blessed to have such an amazing friend who understands him and even when he doesn’t, still supports him.

 

They’re both being shaken by Liam’s laughing, and when he pulls back his eyes are shining with a bright happiness. ‘’Love you too, bro.’’ Liam appraises the table, notices Harry’s unfinished drink and nods at it. ‘’Finish that and then head home, yeah? Get some sleep.’’

 

Harry pulls the drink towards him and finishes it in one gulp, enjoying the way it burns a sweet trail in his chest. ‘’Ookay!’’

 

‘’Text me when you’re there.’’ Liam tends to order people around. It’s his way of taking care of them, because he’s sensible and knows what’s best for them. Harry isn’t in a right state of mind to decide for himself; if it were up to him he’d stay at the table and bury himself in drinks just to stifle the whirlwind inside him. Until he feels nothing but warmth and the desire to sleep. Sometimes he wonders what it’s like to sleep with someone. Just sleep, no sex. Cuddling and comfort.

 

They shuffle out of the booth and Harry makes his way outside after receiving a kiss on the forehead from Liam, something he does sometimes. Usually as a way of saying goodnight after an eventful night or day. It’s comforting and familiar, an almost magical gesture saying _enough, rest, no more bad things_. Harry’s own good luck charm.

 

He steps out onto the street, tugging his hair behind his ears when the wind blows it in front of his face. It’s cold and he regrets not bringing a coat. He’s about to step towards the curb so he can hail a cab when there’s a noise. It’s so small that nobody around him seems to have noticed. Maybe he imagined it? There’s a prickling feeling at the back of his neck urging him to investigate. He _heard_ something. He’s familiar with this particular kind of noise, tuned in to it.

 

Eventually he gives in, following his gut to the nearest alley. There’s another cry, muffled. This time he’s sure, and he hurries towards the source of it, finding two people. One is a man, pressing a girl against a brick wall, his hands over her mouth. It’s dark, too dark to see, but Harry doesn’t _need_ to see. He knows.

 

‘’Hey!’’ he yells, barging forward. The man releases the girl and she runs off, stumbling on her heels. Harry faces the stranger as soon as she’s out of sight, finding the man grinning at him dumbly. Obviously drunk.

 

‘’Wann’ suck m’ dick?’’ The man laughs, thrusting his hips forward. ‘’She was too noisy f’ my taste.’’

 

Time seems to skip forward, and Harry has him pressed against a wall, hands gripping firmly onto the man’s jacket. ‘’You _monster_.’’ His heart is racing and the smell of cigarettes and alcohol make his stomach twist. He pushes the man to the ground and takes a step back, breathing heavily.

 

He can do something. There’s nobody around that sees them. He can stop this man forever. He _wants_ to. But it’s too risky. ‘’You’re so lucky,’’ Harry says to him, voice rough. ‘’You don’t deserve it.’’

 

Walking away is hard, one of the hardest things he’s had to do for a while. But he’ll make up for it, somehow.

 

~•~

 

_Harry’s back in his old house, looking down the set of stairs. The same set of stairs he’s grown to despise because it descended into a nightmare._

 

_They say going down a set of stairs is easier than going up one. It requires less effort. Nothing has ever been less true than that. He doesn’t think he can do it. It’s not even dark downstairs; a single light brightens up the hallway enough that he can see where he’s going. But that’s not right. He never knows where he’s going, where he will end up. What he will find._

 

_He takes one step down and looks around. There are no pictures on the wall. Everything is bare, there is only the light in the hallway and the door that leads outside. He takes another step. What if he goes in a different direction? What if he goes through the door? He hurries down the stairs and stops in front of the door, feeling the doorknob. It’s cold. Harry can see his street through the small window, if he presses his face to it._

 

_When he tries to open the door, it doesn’t budge. It’s not even locked, it just won’t open. He turns around, blinking. He’s back on the landing, a few steps away from the set of stairs he just went down. Hesitatingly he approaches the stairs and sees the same hallway, only the light is flickering. It’s weak, but still bright enough to show him where he’s going as he rushes down the stairs and forcefully tugs on the door, knocking into it and pulling, bashing on it with his fists. The window is gone and he can’t see outside._

 

_Frustrated, he turns around. He’s back on the landing. This time he doesn’t hesitate. The hallway is lit but there is no lamp. He walks down the stairs, anger fueling his determination. His hand clamps around the doorknob; it’s warm. When he pulls back his hand, he sees it’s red, a warm liquid coating his fingers._

 

_He looks back up from his fingers, and he’s on the landing again. There’s a trail of bloody footsteps leading to the staircase and no light from the hallway creeping up the stairs. He’s going in circles, ending up at the same place every time. Only it’s worse. Each time it gets worse._

 

_It can’t keep getting worse, he needs to break the cycle. Without thinking, he turns around, expecting to face a door when instead, he’s just facing the staircase again. This time he’s farther away, and the bloody footsteps have turned into a trail. A deep red stain on the carpet of the landing, stopping right at his feet. When Harry looks down at himself, he sees the blood is coming from him and when he’s expecting his breathing to get heavier he discovers he’s not breathing at all._

 

_He takes a step forward and the house around him creaks, like an old ship groaning against the strength of the waves. His vision starts to fade in and out but he manages to make it to the stairs, waiting at the top to see the condition of the hallway, only to discover there isn’t one. He’s looking down into the ocean, a dark abyss waiting to swallow him whole. Turning around isn’t an option, because it will get worse._

 

_With one last step forward, he allows himself to tumble into darkness._

 

 

When he wakes up it takes him a moment to realise he’s safely in his bed and the screaming in his head is just his alarm blaring on the nightstand beside him. He turns it off and tries to focus on calming down the rapid beating of his heart and laboured breath. It feels like he just ran a few miles, sweat sticking to his brow and hair plastered to the back of his neck.

 

Harry climbs out of his bed and quickly pops into his bathroom where he splashes cold water on his face before starting the rest of his morning routine. What he does first is turn on the TV and get the coffee started so he can pour himself one after he’s done taking a shower. After that he would prepare breakfast and slowly eat it while he watches the local news channel.

 

Only today he seems to skip a few steps, as his attention is drawn to the news anchor on the television.

 

 _‘’It seems the police have their hands full since we now have_ two _serial killers walking around. The question is, will they join forces?’’_

 

If Harry was holding anything, he would surely drop it. There’s a feeling of euphoria rushing through him and his heart is beating so fast he’s starting to feel nauseous. He should be scared or angry, but that’s not the case, because he _knows_. The Artist heard him. They listened. They’re here for _him_.

 

 _They’re here_.

 

~•~

 

‘’Harold!’’ Niall’s at his desk again, and Harry almost misses the next sentence because Niall’s wearing a _tie_. ‘’Did you hear? Those two nutters are both in New York now and the last scene’s only a few blocks away from here!’’

 

Harry keeps his expression carefully guarded, revealing the real shock he experienced. ‘’That close?’’

 

‘’Yeah.’’ Niall looks for a place to sit down on, but Harry’s desk is littered with paper and pencils and other little things. It’s been growing increasingly disorganized. ‘’It’s like we’re living some kind of bad superhero movie.’’

 

‘’So more like a villain movie?’’ His eyes flit back to the tie Niall’s wearing and the somewhat crinkly dress shirt. It looks like he tried to iron it. ‘’Niall, I have to ask. What’s with the outfit?’’

 

Niall goes a bit pink in the cheeks and self-consciously strokes his tie. ‘’I um - decided I should put more effort in the way I present myself.’’

 

Harry nods slowly. ‘’You fishing for another promotion?’’

 

‘’Wouldn’t hurt.’’ Niall looks down at Harry’s desk again, poking at some of the crumpled up papers. ‘’It’s not like you to be this messy. Everything okay?’’

 

‘’Yeah.’’ Harry says it a bit too fast, but Niall seems to catch the dismissal of the subject. Liam’s been incredibly supportive, especially when it comes to Harry’s sister. He already replied to her, saying he’d love to try and build up their relationship again. It’s weird to think they used to be pretty close, despite all the banter and fights. They got on really well. The dreams, however, are an entirely different thing. ‘’Thanks, Niall.’’

 

‘’Anytime.’’ Niall pauses, tapping his fingers on the desk twice before slipping them into his pockets. ‘’You should clean your desk. It’ll make you feel better.’’

 

‘’I will.’’ Harry picks up a balled up piece of paper and throws it in the direction of the wastebasket, missing it by a few inches and making Niall laugh.

 

‘’Nice try,’’ he says, walking off and leaving a frustrated Harry. He will clean his desk, but he’s not sure if it will make him feel better. It would be nice if he could declutter his mind the same way, yet there always seems to be new information and a new event that shakes things up. Always something that shakes his foundation and prompts him to take steps in order to stay upright.

 

Harry thinks he knows his next step. There’s a feeling, a sort of instinct. He needs to check out that crime scene.

 

~•~

 

Any sane person would see that this can only go wrong, but then again, Harry isn’t particularly sane. Nobody is, he believes. We all have some insanity in us. Anyone in denial would call it love. That love could be for another person, or maybe a hobby. Either way, if things get out of hand, you’re doomed. There’s nothing left to live for and you become unstoppable in your destructive tendencies, because what matters anymore?

 

Insane, is what it is.

 

Harry likes to believe he lacks this particular weakness, but that makes him think it must be a weakness of its own; believing you don’t have one. It scares him that he doesn’t know his own biggest weakness, just like he doesn’t know his innermost desires. Why are humans so incapable of knowing themselves? He wishes he had the answers so he could do everything right and not waste a single moment of his incredibly short life, but as fate would have it, he’s left grasping in the darkness.

 

At least there’s one answer waiting for him. Just a few more minutes in the subway and a short walk until he’s at the crime scene. He has his usual equipment with him, minus the spare clothes. There are still many things that can happen that he isn’t prepared for, but he just has to think quick and act fast.

 

The subway slides to a stop and once Harry’s through the doors he makes sure to go through all the facts in his head. The murder took place a few days ago so there shouldn’t be too much police presence in the area. If there was, Harry would either have to go home and try another day or risk it. He doesn’t like taking risks, so that really isn’t such a hard choice. Also, it’s situated in a quieter neighbourhood, which means he really has to watch his steps.

 

It’s only August, but the nights are already growing colder and Harry has to zip up his hoodie in order to stay warm. The amount of pedestrians decreases as he gets closer to his destination, until he’s the only one left, walking under the trees and trying to stay out of sight as much as he can.

 

It’s obvious which house it is, with the yellow tape covering the door. There are no police cars around, and it’s too quiet for there to be an investigation going on. He puts on his gloves as he makes his way to the front door, inspecting it closely. The window seems to be smashed in just enough to fit your arm through, so Harry does, carefully trying to avoid the jagged edges of the glass. The door opens with an audible click, and he retracts his arm as fast as possible and slips inside.

 

Harry gets out his flashlight, taking notes in his mind for possible escape routes as he looks around. He mainly keeps his focus on the floor so he doesn’t disturb any of the evidence and reveal that he was here, stepping over the yellow crime scene markers that have been placed near a few drops of blood. Never has he been in this position; seeing what’s left and what happens after he’s done with one of his targets. This is what someone else left behind, someone who might even still be near.

 

He has considered the possibility that this might be a trap, that he’s walking into danger, but it just doesn’t feel that way. It feels like he’s supposed to be here, and he’s not discouraged when the living room and kitchen appear to be void of clues or messages. He’s oddly calm; his breathing and heart rate steady, and his eyes sweeping over every inch of the floor, occasionally looking up to inspect the rest of the room. He’s inspected the living room and kitchen twice now. There’s one place left to go.

 

 

It’s like a strange parallel to what has happened in the past. This time it’s not the shouting and shattering of glass leading him downstairs, but the silence and promise of answers luring him upstairs. He’s not scared or shaking. He’s not a little boy anymore. The suspense is weighing heavy on him as he climbs up the stairs, and it’s almost as if the air is waiting with him, his breath deepening with every step.

 

There are only three doors; one belongs to a cupboard, one to what Harry assumes is a bathroom, and then the bedroom. His choice is obvious enough. He closes his eyes for a moment, steeling himself for a possible disappointment. It’s happened before that his hunch was just that - a hunch and nothing more, leading him to dead ends. He doesn’t want it to be a dead end.

 

‘’Please,’’ Harry whispers to himself, opening the door wide and freezing in his tracks. On the wall facing the door is the image of a lotus flower, an intricate design consisting of many strokes - long and shorter ones - that form a beautiful image, stunning in its simplicity. There’s a certain ambience in this room, like Harry’s standing in the remnants of an old ruin. Something tangible in the air that makes you fall silent.

 

Harry walks along the side of the bed placed against the wall so he can take a closer look. The sheets have been removed, probably by the investigators. The Artist probably stood on the bed so they could reach the wall. When Harry points his flashlight at the bedframe he sees tiny splatters of blood. It doesn’t look like it’s from a struggle; possibly from after, when they painted on the wall.

 

He has an indescribable urge to reach out and touch the wall, right where they touched it. This other person who may be like Harry. Strangely enough, it doesn’t really bother him that they could be his enemy, out there to get rid of the competition. Because now that he’s standing in this room, he feels good about it. He’s not looking at the work of someone dangerous, but of someone who knows what Harry knows.

 

This world is corrupted. Someone needs to make a difference. What if they could do it together?

 

Harry sweeps his flashlight over the flower, looking for any kind of clue. He feels his stomach sinking when there’s nothing and he’s about to cry out in frustration when he turns around and sees it. A message. He didn’t see it at first because his back was turned to it - it’s how he entered the room.

 

In order to read it fully he needs to close the door. He tries to point his light at the words but his hands are trembling and his heart seems to have expanded to every part of his body, pounding away. The first part of the message is an address, something he vaguely recognises. If he remembers correctly, it belongs to a diner he’s been to a few times. The second part is a time and date.

 

It’s tomorrow. At 12 pm.

 

‘’Oh-’’ Harry stumbles backwards and sits on the bed, staring at the message on the wall. They want to meet him. What is he going to do? The police know about this, it’s risky. If he goes and gets caught, his life will change forever. He’ll lose everything. Everyone. But also if he doesn’t get caught, his life might change forever. There’s a person who will know the real him and support him in that, maybe even do it with him. Why else would they go through all this trouble? And they might need him. They knew Harry would come here. This is something big he can’t ignore, an opportunity he can’t just pass up. He _has_ to check it out.

 

Before he leaves he takes one last look at the lotus, and much like a flower does, hope blooms in his heart.

 

~•~

 

Today. It's the only thing he can think of. The only thought going through his head is that he might meet them soon. _Might_ , because there is also a chance he won't. He doesn't know which possibility scares him more. And those two possibilities don't even involve the police, which is also something he needs to watch out for.

 

Harry doesn't like not knowing what is going to happen and it puts him on edge more than anything else. He's trying to battle the nerves, because they make it nearly impossible to swallow his food or focus on any task, but they won't budge.

 

One hour left. He has to leave now. A taxi will take him to about a block away; Harry prefers to lay low and walk the last bit. He is worried that he won't know who to look for. Is it a woman or a man? It's not like he can just hold up a sign with 'Hey, I'm Bane. Looking for the Artist' because that would definitely get him in trouble. Looks like he has to rely on his good old instinct.

 

For a moment he's struck with the thought ' _what if it's the taxi driver?_ ' but when he steps into the car and gives him a destination, Harry thinks he's an alright man. Also, it's just not possible. What _is_ possible is that the Artist will look like an ordinary person. They probably do. Harry doesn't think it would be good for his own cover if he met up with someone who looks like an obvious serial killer. Nor does he want to, really.

 

"You okay, sir? Looking a bit nervous there." The taxi driver looks at him via the mirror, his bushy eyebrows forming a deep frown. Harry tries to relax, but he feels tense all over.

 

"Job interview," he lies, offering a crooked smile. His hands are clammy and his coat feels too warm.

 

The driver nods. "You look like a competent fellow. I wouldn't worry."

 

"Thank you." Harry takes a deep breath and unbuttons his coat. It’s silent in the car, apart from the traffic noises bleeding in through the small opening of the window. He fidgets with his phone for a bit, reading through old messages and trying to beat a high-score on a silly game. It’s a futile effort once they’re approaching their destination and Harry keeps messing up his streak, fingers trembling when he holds them over the screen. He quits the game and pockets his phone so he can look for money to pay his driver with.

 

The car stops and before he knows it, he’s standing on the sidewalk and watching it drive away. He shivers and buttons up his coat again, suddenly feeling cold and shaky. His legs feel like lead and with every step they’re getting heavier, his boots scraping on the tiles of the sidewalk. The crowd is getting somewhat thinner and before he turns the corner, Harry takes a moment to rest, leaning against a brick wall and taking deep breaths.

 

 _This is odd_ , he thinks. Never in his life has he felt like this; so overwhelmed, excited, and absolutely terrified. All in one. It’s just around the corner. Do they feel the same? Are they looking around and waiting for that one person to appear? Harry knows it’s time when people are starting to look at him; he’s been leaning against the wall for a few minutes. He can’t wait any longer. Harry turns around the corner and stops, hoping he can spot them from this distance.

 

And then it happens.

 

It’s _so_ cliché. Everything surrounding him fades away and he can only see the most beautiful man in the world. Suddenly Harry doesn’t remember why he was so worried, because it’s him. It is so clearly him. How does nobody else notice? It’s like the sun has appeared from behind the clouds just to point at this one person, who is standing in the crowd with an innocence written over him that Harry knows to be a disguise, because he’s wearing the exact same thing.

 

When their eyes finally meet, a calm settles over him. It’s like meeting a friend that you’ve just seen yesterday. Something familiar and simple. Harry nods to the person, turns around, and starts walking. He knows the man will follow.

 

At first he’s not sure where to go, because the place they decided to meet is a definite no. He goes for the first option there is, which is a somewhat dingy looking coffee shop. When he steps inside he’s met with the warm smell of fresh coffee and the quiet murmur of other customers. There’s a free table at the back with rickety looking chairs, but it will do.

 

Before Harry sits down there’s another ding of the bell and a cold rush of air. He unbuttons his coat and drapes it on the chair, turning around when he hears slow but sure footsteps behind him. This time Harry gets a better look at him, his eyes immediately going to the man’s unruly black hair and large, beautiful eyes that are regarding him with the same curiosity.

 

They extend a tattooed hand toward Harry, mouth quirking up in a faint smile. ‘’Zayn.’’

 

‘’I’m Harry.’’ Zayn’s hand is warm against Harry’s, who shivers when they finally take a seat on the cold chairs. He pushes the sleeves of his sweater down from where they were previously bunched up around his elbows and hopes it will help.

 

The silence is only momentarily broken when they order their coffees, but then it’s back in full force. Neither of them seem to know what to say and they’ve been staring at their surroundings, with the tension steadily rising. Although it’s not a bad kind of tension; it’s the kind that arises when you want to make a good impression but you don’t know how.

 

Harry is the first to look. Zayn is watching their coffee being prepared, so he doesn’t notice Harry’s gaze fixed on him. There’s hair curling around Zayn’s ears and it seems to be getting too long, but Harry thinks it suits him. It’s hard to imagine anything not suiting him, honestly. Especially with a bone structure like that. He’s just admiring Zayn’s lashes when he turns his head and looks straight into Harry’s eyes.

 

Neither of them look away. It should be weird or uncomfortable, but they’re both curious about the other person and who they are. Harry previously had a million thoughts going through his head, but now he can only think of how he sometimes wonders if there are colors he can’t see. It’s the stupidest thing, really. But when he looks at Zayn’s eyes he feels like he just discovered a new color and he can’t describe it. Any other person would call it brown or hazel, but he knows that’s not it.

 

They’re both startled by the waitress showing up with their order and placing it on the table with a mumbled ‘enjoy’. She doesn’t seem particularly cheery, but then again, Harry doesn’t think he would be either if he worked in a place like this.

 

‘’So,’’ Harry starts, stirring his coffee slowly. ‘’You’re from Atlanta?’’

 

Zayn nods and softly blows on his coffee before taking a sip. ‘’I drove here.’’

 

‘’Why?’’ It comes out more forceful than Harry intended, but he wants to know.

 

‘’To meet you, of course.’’

 

Harry frowns, running his thumb along the rim of his mug. ‘’But _why?_ ’’

 

‘’Because,’’ Zayn pauses, collecting his thoughts. ‘’You have a cause. I support it.’’

 

‘’I thought you were mocking me at first.’’ Harry chuckles, but Zayn looks very serious.

 

‘’I wouldn’t.’’ There’s a sincerity in his tone that makes Harry shiver; it’s not something he’s been on the receiving end of often, and this time it’s from someone who’s practically a stranger. Yet he already knows Harry better than most people do.

 

‘’I know.’’ Suddenly he has a strange urge to reach out and touch Zayn’s hand like he touched that wall yesterday, to feel closer to this person who’s like him. He doesn’t feel alone anymore. And he wants to know more about this person. ‘’What did you do before?’’

 

‘’Before?’’ Zayn tilts his head, little frown lines appearing on his face.

 

‘’Before you started using my symbol.’’

 

‘’Oh, you want to know what was like, my thing?’’ Zayn runs his finger along his bottom lip, staring down into his coffee mug and draining the last of its contents. ‘’I guess I had a little special service going on. Someone requested art, provided me with information, and then I did the job.’’

 

‘’How?’’

 

‘’I’m not even sure how it came to be, myself. I used to be an art teacher and some of my students talked about this forum. Then I spent some time on it and discovered an unusual amount of hate, so I created my own thread with this idea and here we are.’’

 

‘’But how does it work?’’

 

‘’That was the complicated part, but we figured something out. You know those notice boards at supermarkets? They would post a message on there with an address and a description of the art, along with a red hand drawn in the corner. That way I’d know it was meant for me.’’ Zayn leans back in his chair, hands folded over each other on the table. ‘’It just… happened.’’

 

Harry still has a hard time wrapping his head around it and how something like that just happens, but it doesn’t seem important now. ‘’What kind of people were they?’’

 

‘’The victims?’’ Harry nods and Zayn shifts in his seat, their knees bumping into each other under the table. ‘’I don’t really know. I just did as they asked.’’

 

‘’You don’t care?’’ Harry isn’t sure if he wants to know the answer, because it could change things. He doesn’t condone killing random people. Innocent people.

 

‘’I do. I rarely went through with it, mostly because it didn’t feel right. And sometimes people post it as a joke.’’ Zayn sighs and runs his hand through his hair, messing it up even more. ‘’I haven’t gotten a request in months. That’s when I found out about you.’’

 

Harry feels hot under Zayn’s intense gaze, so he stares down into his mug and sloshes around the remaining coffee. ‘’And then you started using my symbol?’’

 

‘’Yes,’’ Zayn says, handing Harry a napkin when some of the coffee splashes on his hand. ‘’It’s like I suddenly had a purpose. And when you responded to it, I had to meet you.’’

 

‘’I still can’t believe you’re here.’’

 

‘’It was risky.’’ Zayn’s voice is soft and his eyes are flickering all over Harry’s face, lingering on his mouth a little longer. ‘’But it was worth it.’’

 

‘’How long are you staying?’’ Harry leans forward, his elbows resting on the table.

 

Zayn smiles, inching forward in his seat so their knees are touching. ‘’Indefinitely.’’

 

‘’But how? Don’t you have a job?’’

 

‘’Not anymore.’’ Zayn doesn’t seem bothered in the least, but Harry is already worrying.

 

‘’You quit your job? Where will you live? What about food?’’ He looks down at their table and the empty coffee mugs. ‘’Should I pay for this? Will that h-’’

 

‘’Harry,’’ Zayn interrupts him, placing a hand on top of his. ‘’It’s okay, I’ve got it covered.’’

 

When Harry looks at Zayn’s hand on top of his, he feels… weird. Like his heart had too much caffeine and is now bouncing around in his chest excitedly. It’s not the same as the rush he gets when he’s angry, or even nervous. It’s an unsettling novelty, but feels good at the same time. Something he could get used to, _wants_ to get used to.

 

‘’What do you mean?’’

 

Zayn lets his hand slip away and starts tracing the tiny grooves in the table instead. ‘’That’s - a conversation for another time.’’

 

Harry can’t help his curiosity. ‘’Why?’’

 

‘’Because a lot of explaining would be necessary.’’ There’s a short silence in which Harry watches Zayn, practically sees the wheels turning in his head, forming a plan. ‘’Tomorrow? Can you come then?’’

 

‘’Yes,’’ Harry says it before he thought about it properly, but he’d find a way even if he couldn’t come. ‘’Where?’’

 

‘’I’ll text you the address if you give me your number.’’

 

They exchange numbers and decide to meet tomorrow evening before Zayn says he should probably get going. It sounds like an excuse, but Harry feels he needs time to process everything that just happened so he goes along with it and insists he pays for their coffee. ‘’It’s the least I can do.’’

 

Zayn shrugs and puts his wallet back in his pocket. ‘’If you insist.’’

 

‘’I do,’’ Harry says and goes to the counter, feeling flustered the entire time because he can feel Zayn’s eyes on him and is aware of every tiny move. It’s not what he’s used to; Harry always had this disguise up, a mask to conceal parts of himself the world can’t know about, yet now there’s this person that _knows_. Zayn knows and he’s looking at him. Not to judge him, no. Harry knows what judging looks like; experienced it often enough as a kid when he still looked funny with his floppy curls and oddly shaped body.

 

Harry feels seen, heard, _understood_. And when Zayn and he part after giving each other a brief hug, he finally feels like he matters.

 

~•~

 

 _He hears the ocean before he sees it. Its waves are calmly brushing over the shore, just short of his feet. The push and pull is lulling him into a state of trance, his mind and body at peace and void of thought or emotion. He simply_ is.

 

_There’s not a cloud to be seen and it’s difficult to tell the ocean from the sky because all Harry sees is blue. He doesn’t know if he’s alone or if someone is with him; he seems to have lost his senses, but he’s fine with that. There’s only him and blue._

 

_Until the voices come. They’re trapped in the sigh of the ocean, as it pulls back and prepares for the next meeting with the shore. They’re calling Harry, beckoning him. The only voice he can make out is his mother’s, sweet and soft to his ears. Her lovely voice singing their lullaby, the one she always sang after a bad night, when she knew Harry had been up and listening. She told him everything would be okay, that even bad nights have an end and if he went to sleep, he would see in the morning that she was right._

 

_She couldn’t sing to him after the incident. Now Harry’s not sure if the night is truly over when he wakes up, if the morning brings him happiness or greets him with a sad face and tells him the world will never become a better place, that the natural state of the world is night and the sun has left the people. The people are consumed by night, and Harry is determined to become the sun._

 

_‘’Mom?’’ Harry calls out to her, to her fading voice. He takes a step into the ocean, wants to follow it and go to the voice, let himself get dragged into the effortless push and pull._

 

_A hand stops him. It’s large and warm around his, a hand Harry has only just gotten to know. The voice belonging to the hand whispers to him, calm yet demanding._

 

_‘’Not yet, Harry.’’_

 

 

A blaring alarm wakes Harry and turning it off proves to be difficult, since his entire arm has gone numb from sleeping on it. When it’s shut off he first takes a moment to come to his senses, staring at his ceiling and trying to figure out what he just dreamed about. He knows the hand and voice belong to Zayn, but why would he dream about him? What part does he play in all this?

 

This question haunts him the entire morning, enough so that he doesn’t even notice Niall sitting on his desk and waving a newspaper in front of his face.

 

‘’Mate, you there?’’ Niall snaps his fingers in front of Harry’s face, startling him.

 

‘’What?’’

 

‘’You looked like you ascended to another plane of existence for a moment, there.’’ Niall drops the paper on Harry’s desk and regards him carefully.

 

‘’I was just thinking,’’ Harry defends himself, taking the newspaper and looking at the front page. Nothing special.

 

Niall snorts. ‘’Clearly.’’ He pats Harry’s desk, nodding approvingly. ‘’See you’re keeping things clear. It’s better, isn’t it?’’

 

‘’Yeah.’’ Harry looks at the neatly organised surface and is glad Niall can’t see his house, because it’s in a worse state than his desk was. ‘’It made quite a difference. Thanks.’’

 

‘’You’re welcome.’’

 

Harry folds up the paper again, tapping Niall on the leg with it. ‘’Can’t believe I never asked - how’s it been since the promotion?’’

 

‘’Busy,’’ Niall pauses, pursing his lips and stroking his chin. ‘’Demanding, stressful, great. I get to do more and less at the same time.’’

 

‘’How so?’’

 

‘’I have to do a lot of the same thing, but I like the control I have. And the paycheck is better.’’ He picks up the paper and whacks Harry on the head with it. ‘’I also don’t get to hit you on the head as often anymore, which is a shame. I really enjoy doing that.’’

 

Harry rubs his head in feigned hurt and pushes Niall off his desk. ‘’And I miss doing _that_.’’

 

Niall laughs loudly, hitting Harry’s legs with the newspaper from where he’s sitting on the ground. ‘’You’ll regret that!’’ He gets up and swings at Harry, but he ducks just in time. ‘’Alright, I’m out!’’

 

‘’That’s right, flee!’’ Harry laughs at Niall as he hurries off, turning his head every few steps to glare at him. By the time he’s out of sight, Harry’s wiping away tears and trying to keep quiet for his already annoyed colleagues.

 

It doesn’t matter what kind of day Harry’s having, Niall always manages to bring some joy into it.

 

~•~

 

The address apparently belongs to a trailer park. It’s really not the most charming location, but Harry figures it must be temporary. He’s waiting at the gate, where Zayn said he would meet him, and kicks at the gravel. A little dust cloud floats up and he follows it with his eyes until he can hear footsteps approaching, the grind of gravel under heavy boots.

 

‘’Hey,’’ Zayn greets him, squinting against the evening sun. ‘’Found it alright?’’

 

Harry nods. ‘’It wasn’t that hard. Just unexpected.’’

 

‘’Yeah.’’ Zayn chuckles and looks around, kicks against the chain link fence. ‘’It’s got its charms, though.’’

 

‘’I guess.’’ Harry takes a nervous breath, smiling shyly when he catches Zayn’s eyes. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen such beautiful eyes in his entire existence, much less that they would be focused on him so much. It shakes him, makes him stumble and lose his breath. He would love to get to know the person behind them. ‘’Want to show me your place?’’

 

‘’Sure.’’ Zayn starts walking and Harry follows behind him, looking at the worn homes and long washing lines fluttering in the wind. It looks a bit forlorn, like humanity’s dump for the hopeless. Some people are sitting outside and nod at them in greeting as they walk past, enjoying the last bits of sunlight before the day ends and the cold of the night creeps in. It’s obvious when they reach Zayn’s trailer, because it sticks out like a sore thumb with its shiny new exterior. Harry has to admit it’s kind of cute. Not enough to live in it permanently, though.

 

‘’This is it,’’ Zayn says, turning around and spreading his arms. ‘’My palace.’’

 

Harry snickers and walks past Zayn, pretending to look inside through the window. ‘’Don’t tell me it’s bigger on the inside?’’

 

‘’Not really.’’ Zayn fishes some keys out of his pocket and walks up the tiny steps to the door. ‘’You could just use your imagination, though.’’

 

‘’Of course.’’ Harry waits for him to open the door and then follows him inside, noticing how it still smells somewhat new, with only a hint of Zayn. ‘’It’s lovely,’’ Harry comments, observing the light wooden interior and surprisingly modern appliances. ‘’Not what I expected at all.’’

 

‘’I have standards, you know.’’

 

Harry feels his face heat up. ‘’That’s not - I wasn’t implying-’’

 

‘’I know, it’s okay.’’ Zayn softly squeezes his arm as he slides past him to look inside the fridge. ‘’Take a seat! Want a drink?’’

 

‘’I’m good, thanks.’’ Harry sits down on the tiny sofa after taking off his coat and hums to himself when the sun shining through the window warms up his back. He scoots to the side to give Zayn more room, eyeing his drink with a curious look. ‘’A juice box?’’

 

‘’I like them.’’ He shrugs and places it on the little side table. ‘’And they’re cheap.’’

 

‘’From the looks of this trailer I don’t think money’s an issue for you.’’ Harry sits back on the sofa and watches Zayn, without his disguise, so comfortable in his own environment. He really looks like a different person. More confident, perhaps? It suits him.

 

‘’It’s not,’’ Zayn muses, turning in his spot so he can lean his arm on the back of the sofa and look at Harry without having to crane his neck. ‘’I suppose you want to know why.’’

 

It’s not a question, so Harry doesn’t feel obliged to answer. He just waits until Zayn’s ready to tell whatever he needs to. Or maybe he won’t; Harry doesn’t know anything about him, nor does he have an inkling of what to expect. It’s because Zayn seems to keep so much under the surface and is in control of every single thing and movement. Harry doesn’t know how he does it. He’s more of a ‘go with the flow’ kind of person, himself. To a certain extent.

 

‘’I actually inherited most of it.’’ Harry tilts his head, something he does when he wants to know more, which Zayn seems to pick up on. ‘’How much do you want to know?’’

 

‘’Honestly?’’ Harry copies Zayn’s pose, using the back of the couch as a support so he can rest his chin on his hand. ‘’Whatever you feel comfortable telling me.’’

 

Zayn shakes his head and smiles down at his lap. ‘’That’s the thing.’’ He looks out the window, blinking against the weak sunlight. Harry instinctively leans forward, mesmerised by the way the golden light almost seems to come from Zayn himself, hanging on his every word. ‘’I feel like I can tell you anything and everything. Like we’ve crossed some kind of threshold and now there’s nothing I can’t say.’’ He looks at Harry, his expression vulnerable. ‘’Do you know what I mean?’’

 

‘’Yeah.’’ Harry feels warm, and he’s not sure if it’s because of the sun or Zayn’s focus on him. Maybe it’s both. ‘’So tell me everything.’’

 

‘’It’s from my ex-husband.’’

 

‘’You were married?’’ Harry suddenly feels like he’s been doused in cold water, drowning his contentedness.

 

Zayn holds up his hands in defense. ‘’I was young and naive. Thought that I had to grab the first opportunity given to me, that marrying a wealthy man would ensure a good life.’’ He closes his eyes, as if he’s recalling an unpleasant memory. ‘’It was a mistake.’’ When he opens them, he’s looking straight at Harry, and something softens in his eyes. ‘’But it was a mistake that ultimately led me to you.’’

 

‘’How so?’’

 

‘’He was my first victim. The start of it all.’’ He leans forward, unbothered by their proximity. Harry doesn’t understand how he seems to keep his cool so easily, like it’s not doing anything to him. Or maybe his brain is scrambled and he’s not interpreting anything right. ‘’Who was your first?’’

 

‘’My dad.’’ There seems to be a mutual understanding that they won’t go further than that; there’s no need to prod at delicate memories.

 

‘’I see.’’ Zayn rubs his eyebrow, a little motion he seems to do a lot, and it’s distracting to Harry because he gets a better view of his hands and that’s not something he needs.

 

It makes him think about his dream and the warmth he felt when that hand was entwined with his, how he would follow the person it belongs to, even if it meant distancing himself from his mother. But it was just a dream. If the ocean allowed you to talk to the dead, Harry would be there every day, soaking himself in the waves and trying to close that distance until he could hear her voice by his ear and feel her arms around him again. It doesn’t work that way, though. Some distances aren’t about how _far_ you’ll go, but _where_ you’ll go.

 

‘’You alright?’’

 

Harry blinks rapidly, unaware he had zoned off completely. ‘’Yeah.’’

 

‘’What were you thinking about?’’ Zayn shifts slightly, causing their legs to press together. Harry’s not sure if he’s imagining it or if they really do keep getting closer. It’s just too easy and too comfortable, the kind of comfort Harry has with Liam after years of friendship, but this feels different.

 

Of course he can’t tell Zayn what he was really thinking about, so he deflects it with a question. ‘’Do you think dreams carry certain meanings?’’

 

‘’Of course.’’ He seems intrigued by the question, a reaction Harry didn’t expect. ‘’Why are you asking?’’

 

‘’Because I’ve been having dreams. They’re all similar in a way.’’

 

‘’How are they similar?’’

 

‘’Well,’’ Harry pauses, trying to think of another similarity besides his sister. ‘’The ocean, it always appears in one way or another.’’

 

‘’Really?’’ Zayn seems to think for a moment, looking at Harry as if he’s going to find the information written on his face. ‘’The ocean, or any type of water, usually symbolizes your emotional state of mind.’’

 

‘’Oh.’’ Harry feels himself flush under Zayn’s gaze, because it’s like he’s reading him, like every facade he puts up is useless.

 

‘’When was your last dream?’’

 

‘’Last night.’’ Since he’s an open book already, he might as well tell him everything, Harry figures. ‘’You were in it, actually. The water was calm.’’

 

‘’Calm water is good. What did I do?’’

 

‘’You held my hand,’’ Harry nearly whispers. He seems to be running out of air; afraid to breathe and taint the perfect silence in which he can hear every breath Zayn is taking, even the little hitch, a small intake of air he wouldn’t have heard otherwise.

 

Zayn slowly lifts his hand from his lap and runs his fingers over the back of Harry’s hand, the lightest of movements causing Harry to turn his hand around as an offer, which Zayn takes. ‘’Like this?’’

 

‘’Almost.’’ They’re stuck in a moment, their moment, in which the entire world seems to rotate around this one simple touch.

 

‘’Can I kiss you?’’ Zayn asks, gaze flickering between Harry’s lips and his eyes, questioning and hopeful.

 

Harry smiles and squeezes Zayn’s hand, much like his own heart is being squeezed inside his chest. ‘’Yes.’’

 

Zayn takes his time, placing his free hand against the side of Harry’s face and then sliding it down so he can trace Harry’s jawline with his thumb. Despite the careful movements Harry feels like he might break, like he’s about to burst at the seams if Zayn doesn’t get closer right away. They lean in closer until they’re sharing their breaths and their warmth.

 

The first touch is soft, so soft Harry almost doesn’t feel the difference between the air and Zayn’s lips, but he knows. His eyes are closed and all he can feel is Zayn, the warm hand around his neck and the firm press of another mouth against his own. It’s like he’s falling; as if gravity just got a new meaning and is trying to pull him into this other person until they meld together. He doesn’t mind. Welcomes it, even.

 

They just hold each other after that, heads resting on shoulders and hands tracing over each other. Neither of them wants to talk. Not every moment needs to be filled with words, be it an explanation or a story. Harry doesn’t think he’d have the words to describe this feeling, anyway.

 

But it’s the best he’s felt in a long time.

 

~•~

 

It’s like a switch has been turned; he’s constantly communicating with Zayn, sending him pictures of his cartoons and talking about little things happening during his day. In the meantime, Zayn’s looking for a new target, something they can do together. Harry’s just excited to watch him work and see how he does it.

 

Harry’s typing a reply to one of Zayn’s texts as he’s waiting in a small restaurant for Liam. The two of them are having lunch, which honestly feels like something they haven’t done in forever. Their schedules don’t work together at all, and now Harry has to share what little time there is with Louis. Honestly he’s a bit bitter about it and feels like Louis just barged in and stole his friend, but he’s happy for Liam. He just needs a long time to warm up to the idea, although it’s been easier recently. Maybe it’s because he’s found someone himself. Is it the same, though? Would he compare what he has with Zayn with what Liam and Louis have? He’s not sure if he can, because he’s not sure what they are.  They have to talk about it, preferably in person.

 

 _Harry:_ _Can you come to my place tonight? I think we need to talk._

 

_Zayn: Of course. x_

 

‘’What you doing?’’ It’s Liam, he finally arrived and is now taking a seat across from Harry. He looks tired and in need of sleep, which is how he always looks when he has night shifts.

 

‘’Just… checking my email.’’

 

‘’Oh,’’ Liam sighs and rolls up the sleeves of his sweater. ‘’Heard anything new from Gemma?’’

 

‘’No.’’ Harry had sent her a reply, but she hasn’t sent anything back yet. ‘’Not yet.’’

 

‘’You will. She probably just needs time.’’

 

Harry picks up his menu and looks through it, even though he always orders the same thing. ‘’I guess. She’s taking awfully long, though.’’

 

Liam doesn’t even bother looking through his menu and observes Harry instead. ‘’It’s difficult for her too, but you’re her brother. These things take time.’’

 

‘’I know. Just wish I knew what was going on in her mind.’’ He closes his menu, feeling frustration slowly bubble up. It’s just not going the way he wants it to. ‘’Wish she would just come back.’’

 

‘’Hey.’’ Liam places his hand on top of Harry’s. It’s cold, but reassuring. ‘’She’ll come back, just be patient.’’

 

‘’Thank you.’’ Liam always tells Harry not to thank him, that it’s his duty as a friend to be there for him, but Harry needs to do this, to let Liam know he’s appreciated. The waitress shows up, interrupting their conversation until she’s taken their orders. ‘’How’s Louis?’’

 

‘’Great!’’ Liam says, his cheeks going red. He has that look, that shy, somewhat embarrassed look he gets when-

 

‘’Oh, gross!’’ Harry slaps his hand in front of his eyes, hiding his mortified expression. ‘’I did _not_ need to know that.’’

 

‘’I didn’t say anything!’’

 

‘’Your face did!’’ Harry peeks through his fingers, watching Liam turn even redder. ‘’How’s that even the first thing to come up in your mind?’’

 

‘’Well,’’ Liam picks up the salt shaker, pretending to inspect it. ‘’Last night-’’

 

‘’Stop. Stop right there.’’

 

‘’You asked,’’ Liam puts the shaker down and grins at Harry, that mischievous grin he gets when he’s been embarrassed and is planning to return the favor. ‘’When’s the last time you got some?’’

 

‘’ _Liam_.’’

 

‘’Don’t tell me it’s Niall? He doesn’t seem like your type.’’

 

Harry groans, already regretting what he said earlier. ‘’Niall likes girls.’’

 

Liam tilts his head and kicks Harry’s foot under the table. ‘’But you like him? Come on, you can tell me.’’

 

‘’No, Liam. I do not like Niall.’’

 

‘’Shame.’’ Liam sighs heavily and puts on a pretend sad face. ‘’We could have gone on double dates.’’

 

‘’You’re so selfish.’’

 

‘’Your hair is frizzy.’’

 

Harry gasps and places a hand to his chest in feign hurt. ‘’You don’t mean that!’’

 

Liam just shrugs and kicks Harry’s foot under the table again, which Harry tries to copy but misses and kicks the table instead. ‘’Ha, you missed me!’’ Liam sticks his tongue out and laughs when Harry pouts.

 

‘’Anyway,’’ Liam says, turning serious. ‘’I needed to tell you about an upcoming gig on Niall’s birthday. You’re coming, right?’’

 

‘’Of course. I enjoyed their music last time.’’

 

‘’Good.’’ Liam nudges his foot this time, more as a show of affection. ‘’Food! Blessed food,’’ he exclaims when the waitress arrives with their orders. 

 

Harry shakes his head, but smiles fondly. His best friend can be strange sometimes, but strange is just how he likes it.

 

~•~

 

This time Harry actually tidied his house before Zayn arrives, having forgotten about it last time. He explicitly told him he didn’t mind, but Harry still felt embarrassed because compared to Zayn’s neat little trailer, it was a complete pigsty. Not that it was dirty, just full of clutter. But now everything is in its place, and Harry has to admit it makes him feel better. He should have followed Niall’s advice earlier and cleaned up his home as well, not just his desk.

 

He’s just putting back his cleaning supplies when the doorbell rings. It’s Zayn, and Harry pushes the button to let him inside the building. He uses the time it takes to get upstairs to make himself a bit more presentable, mulling over which scent he should put on when his own doorbell rings this time. Maybe it would have been a bit over the top, anyway, he thinks.

 

‘’Hey there.’’ Zayn says, engulfing him in a brief hug when he opens the door. Harry lets him in and he makes a noise of approval as he looks around. ‘’See you tidied up. Not for me, I hope?’’

 

‘’A bit,’’ Harry admits, closing the door behind him. ‘’But it was needed.’’ He points Zayn over to the couch and hovers behind him a bit. ‘’Want anything to drink?’’

 

‘’No, maybe later.’’

 

‘’Alright.’’ Harry sits next to him somewhat stiffly, filled with nerves and unsure of how to start the topic.

 

‘’You wanted to talk,’’ Zayn states, appearing somewhat guarded. ‘’Is everything okay?’’

 

‘’Yeah, everything is cool.’’ Harry wrings his hands a bit and takes a deep breath. ‘’Just need some clarity.’’

 

‘’On what?’’

 

‘’Us.’’ He thinks about it for a moment, what he really wants to know. ‘’Your intentions. What _you_ think this is.’’

 

‘’I think.’’ Zayn takes Harry’s hand, holds onto it tightly. ‘’What we have is special and I don’t intend to let that go to waste. There is nobody else like you. Like us.’’ He places his other hand on Harry’s cheek, tracing his thumb along his bottom lip. ‘’Everything about you is amazing and I couldn’t imagine leaving.’’

 

‘’Then don’t,’’ Harry whispers, and lunges forward to kiss Zayn. They fall backwards onto the couch, caught in a breathless kiss and just looking for something to hold onto. It’s not the most comfortable position, but Harry’s learned that comfort is not something you’ll always find. Sometimes you simply have to go for it, and he goes for it with Zayn. _For_ Zayn. He doesn’t understand what makes him so willing to give everything or do anything for him. And what surprises him most is that he _knows_ he’ll get the same in return.

 

What did he do to deserve this? Why is it now that he receives what seems like the greatest gift in the universe?

 

‘’Harry,’’ Zayn whispers from under him, pressing the softest of kisses along his jawline. ‘’Promise me something.’’

 

‘’Anything.’’

 

‘’Don’t leave.’’ Zayn’s looking up at him, and in his eyes Harry can see all the words unspoken and all the things there are no words for. He’s afraid because he’s never felt this way, because he knows barely any time passed and there is no logical explanation for any of this. It’s his little miracle. Maybe it’s about time something good came his way. Maybe his life doesn’t have to be all bad.

 

‘’I won’t.’’ He kisses Zayn once on his nose and twice on his mouth. ‘’I’ll never leave.’’

 

‘’I’ll hold you to that.’’ He wraps his arms around Harry and pulls him to his chest, placing his chin on top of his head. ‘’I’m taking you on a date. This Friday.’’

 

‘’Mm?’’ Harry nuzzles into Zayn’s chest and closes his eyes, thinking he could take a nap like this. ‘’What is it?’’

 

‘’I found us a target.’’

 

Harry lifts his head and scoffs. ‘’That’s hardly a date, is it?’’

 

Zayn smiles, twirling one of Harry’s curls around his finger. ‘’It could end like one.’’

 

‘’How exactly?’’

 

‘’That remains to be seen.’’

 

Harry pouts at him. ‘’You’re no fun.’’ He’s shaken by Zayn’s chuckle and lets his head rest on his chest again because his neck is starting to get sore. ‘’I mean it.’’

 

‘’I know, babe.’’

 

He’s glad his face is hidden from Zayn’s sight, because he’s sure he’s blushing. His face feels incredibly warm, which may also just be because Zayn is warm, but he suspects it’s not. He always feel warm around him, though. And that’s definitely not from blushing. It’s a comfortable warmth, something he can feel in every part of him.

 

It’s happiness.

 

~•~

 

Harry feels like he blinked and it’s Friday already. He’s starting to think time doesn’t move at one pace, because sometimes it goes so fast he doesn’t have time to notice, and when he’s with Zayn it feels like it doesn’t move at all. Funny thing, time.

 

It’s nice to have Zayn do the searching because that way he doesn’t have to slack on his job anymore. Zayn doesn’t need to work anyway, since he inherited a fortune. Harry doesn’t know the whole story yet, but he knows he will in time. Neither of them seem to want to talk about the past, not unless the conversation naturally leads them there, but they have good reasons not to. And why dwell on bad memories when everything is going so well right now?

 

He’s just making his way to the bus stop where he is going to meet Zayn, feeling more at ease under the cloak that night provides him. There is something about the dark that wakes something up inside him, makes him feel like anything could be possible. He's never been afraid of the dark, not even as a child.

 

The bus arrives just as he makes it to the stop and he quickly slips inside, looking around to see if he can find Zayn. Harry goes over to him when he sees him sitting in the back, sitting low in the seat and leaning his head against the window.

 

"Hey there." He sits next to Zayn and puts his little backpack down by his feet.

 

Zayn smiles and kisses his cheek. "Excited for our date?"

 

"Very. When are you going to tell me more?"

 

"Not in the bus," Zayn says, glancing at the nearest people. "Maybe during the short walk, if you want."

 

Harry shakes his head. "I guess it's not important. I trust your judgment."

 

"Okay." Zayn takes his hand and laces their fingers together. Harry's learned that Zayn is very tactile; always looking for a way to touch and connect. Not that he minds. It's comforting and also grounds him in a way, makes him feel at ease.

 

He also learned that that's the way Zayn expresses himself; quietly and through comfort. He's never used too many words, always just enough and delivered very carefully. Harry doesn't think he's met anyone as sweet and considerate as Zayn. He just wonders what he will be like if he loses his cool. Maybe that's something he doesn't want to see.

 

"Are you nervous?" Zayn asks him, placing his chin on Harry's shoulder.

 

"Not really. Curious, maybe."

 

"Really? Why?"

 

Harry shrugs. "Curious to see what you picked. Are you going to paint or not?"

 

Zayn hums, focusing on rubbing his thumb across Harry's knuckles. "That could take a while."

 

"It's okay, I want to watch."

 

"Then yeah, I will." Zayn lifts their hands, presses them to his mouth. "I'll make you something."

 

"How romantic." Harry rolls his eyes, but a smile manages to break through.

 

"Shut up, you asked for it."

 

Their conversation stills for a bit, and Harry uses the opportunity to be aware of this moment, this particular feeling he has. He’s learned you need to cherish the small things, absorb any regular moment if you have the time to do it. It shouldn’t be reserved for big, important things. Why wait for the big things to happen when you’re living right now, doing something meaningful no matter how small it is.

 

He wants to remember every moment he spends with Zayn, because he can’t be sure of the next. There will always be an uncertainty. But this, _this_ needs to be remembered. The warmth he feels when he looks down at their hands, when he sees the way Zayn looks at him. Just the fact that he can feel at all. One of his fears was that he’d never find someone for himself, or that he wouldn’t like that someone back. Yet the impossible happened, and he found Zayn. They found each other.

 

And together they’re going to take on the world. One by one. Harry’s glad he doesn’t have to carry that weight on his own anymore.

 

‘’So,’’ Zayn says when they get off the bus. ‘’You do need to know he’s a middle-aged man. Maybe a bit older.’’

 

‘’Lives on his own?’’

 

‘’Yes.’’ He stops Harry by placing a hand on his chest at the corner of a street. "Who's doing it?"

 

"Maybe you? You're getting your hands dirty anyway."

 

Zayn nods. "Fair point."

 

"I could wait outside? Best not get in your way."

 

"Two is too many for a stealthy job."

 

"Exactly."

 

"Let's get going then. We're almost there." Zayn starts walking again, and Harry follows. He doesn't really think about himself as a follower; never trusted anyone's abilities enough to let himself be led by them, yet here he is, following in Zayn's footsteps and utterly convinced everything will be alright. The only other person he would ever follow into the dark is Liam, but that's not necessarily because of his abilities.

 

"Are we there yet?" Harry asks, trying to be funny.

 

"Actually, we are."

 

"Oh, really? I wanted to be annoying."

 

"You can't annoy me."

 

"Watch me."

 

"Already am."

 

"You- alright." He swallows his words because the street is quiet, the only audible sound being the rustling of leaves on the trees in the soft breeze. They’re standing in front of a house, a regular one, nothing special about it. It looks a bit neglected, with dirty windows and cracked glass here and there. He doesn’t really know where they are, some neighbourhood on the fringe unaffected by the noise of the big city. The quiet is nice, in a way.

 

‘’Okay.’’ Zayn takes his hand and leads him to the back of the house. ‘’You wait here. I’ll come get you when it’s safe.’’

 

‘’How will I know if you’re okay?’’

 

Zayn hesitates for a moment, eyes sweeping over the back of the building and then to Harry. ‘’Don’t worry.’’ He kisses him briefly before pulling on a pair of gloves and asking Harry if he can give him a boost. The window opens with a whoosh, and Zayn climbs inside.

 

Harry waits. For how long, he doesn’t know. He tries to listen carefully for any odd sounds, but he detects nothing apart from his own breathing and the birds cawing high up in the sky. The seasons are definitely changing, yet Harry can’t help but feel it’s bigger than that. It feels like his entire world has been shifting lately, like it’s found a new center of gravity and is trying its best to just hold on.

 

‘’Babe!’’ Zayn pokes his head through the window, smiling widely. ‘’I’ll let you in through the front, yeah?’’ He vanishes again, and Harry rushes to the front door, his little backpack swishing from side to side.

 

‘’How did it go?’’ Harry asks when Zayn lets him in, looking around the house as if the body is going to be just there, lying on the floor.

 

‘’Wasn’t easy.’’ Zayn starts walking up the stairs and Harry follows. ‘’He was asleep so I had to use the old smothering trick.’’

 

‘’Works like a charm, though.’’ The inside of the house isn’t much better than the outside; there’s an unpleasant smell, like someone hasn’t cleaned in a long time, and there’s clutter and rubbish everywhere. Once they reach the bedroom there’s not much of an improvement. Clothes are littered everywhere, and Harry has a sneaking suspicion they’re not particularly clean. Their target is hanging off the side of the bed, leaking blood into what seems to be a large dish bowl.

 

Zayn stands next to the man and nods down at him. ‘’That’s why it took me so long. Had to figure out a way.’’

 

‘’Oh, you left him upside down?’’ Harry stands next to him, observing Zayn’s handiwork. ‘’Should have thought of that myself.’’

 

‘’Let gravity do all the work.’’ He’s switching gloves now, leaving the fabric ones in Harry’s little backpack. ‘’Well, some of it, anyway.’’

 

‘’I haven’t done anything yet,’’ Harry admits sheepishly.

 

‘’You gave me a boost. And now you can help me move the bed.’’ Zayn goes to the foot of the bed and grabs onto the wood. ‘’Away from the wall so I have room to work.’’

 

‘’Yes, boss,’’ Harry quips, joining Zayn and helping him drag the bed backwards. As soon as they’re done he goes to check on the bowl and makes sure it’s aligned again. ‘’What now? Is this enough?’’

 

Zayn shakes his head. ‘’That’s why I’ve got another bowl. I’ll switch them around.’’

 

‘’Oh.’’ Harry moves out of the way so Zayn can replace the bowl on the floor and watches him carry the one with blood over to the wall where he places it on a nightstand within his reach. ‘’You can tell I’ve only done this once.’’

 

‘’Did you wait, then?’’ Zayn sounds amused, turning around to look at Harry with a smirk.

 

‘’I didn’t need much.’’ Harry crosses his arms and takes a seat on the dresser opposite the wall.

 

‘’Aha.’’ Zayn makes sweeping motions with his arm, as if he’s sketching in the air, testing the size of the wall. It reminds Harry of some of the golf matches he watched late at night, when the golfer would make a practice swing before doing it for real. He’s in awe already and Zayn hasn’t even started yet.

 

‘’What are you painting?’’

 

‘’You’ll see.’’ Zayn tilts his head and stares at the wall before suddenly picking up the bowl and dipping his gloved hand inside. ‘’Now be quiet.’’

 

Harry has no problem staying quiet, just observes Zayn and his every movement. After a while he seems to move on autopilot, gaze staying fixed on the wall where his fingers apply stroke after stroke, sometimes using the side of his thumb and other times the pad, as if they’re actual brushes. There’s something about watching the confidence, the determination and the utter concentration that makes Harry lose his breath. It’s as if he’s being lifted up into the sky and the air is getting thinner, crackling with the static of an approaching storm.

 

They briefly make eye contact when Zayn switches his bowls, and it’s like lightning lashes out at him, setting his skin on fire. Zayn just looks at him with hooded eyes, as if he knows every thought going on inside Harry’s head and resumes painting. Harry doesn’t realise he’s been chewing on his bottom lip until it starts getting sore, and he has to take a deep breath in order to calm himself.

 

It’s the atmosphere, like every last moment of summer has gathered itself in this room and is burning away Harry’s insides, and every smoldering piece of him _wants_. Every time he thinks Zayn is finished, he adds another stroke, another tiny detail.

 

But then he stops. ‘’This is for you.’’

 

Harry’s gaping at the wall now he finally has a full view without Zayn blocking it. ‘’It’s a rose.’’

 

‘’Yeah.’’ Zayn disposes of the bowl and stands in front of him, in between the space of Harry’s legs. ‘’Do you like it?’’

 

‘’It’s beautiful,’’ he says, but he’s not looking at the rose anymore. He shivers when Zayn’s eyes sweep over him, pausing on his nipples that he knows are visibly poking through his shirt. Embarrassed, is how he feels. But it does nothing to tame the lingering arousal.

 

‘’C’mere.’’ Zayn coaxes him over to the bed, making sure not to touch him with his bloody hands. He lifts the man back up with a grunt, until his head is resting on the pillow again. ‘’There’s one last thing.’’ He picks up a knife from the nightstand, holding it out to Harry.

 

‘’Symbol.’’ Harry nods, makes sure his gloves are on securely. He wants to take the knife, but pauses. ‘’Let’s do it together.’’

 

Zayn seems surprised, but nods. ‘’How?’’

 

‘’I’ll be behind you.’’ Harry waits for Zayn to stand in the right position before standing right behind him, pressing their bodies together and hooking his chin over his shoulder. His hands subtly glide over Zayn’s arms before clasping over his hand so they’re holding onto the knife together. ‘’Like this,’’ he whispers, feeling Zayn shiver against him, the slightest of tremors running through his body. They move together, slowly slicing each wave into the man’s forehead. Time seems to stop moving altogether, not resuming until they’re finished and Harry draws a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

 

Zayn drops the knife on the bed and stands upright, leaning into Harry. ‘’Done.’’

 

Harry hums, runs his nose along the side of Zayn’s neck before pressing a kiss to the back of it. His hand is still clasped around Zayn’s, and he squeezes it lightly. ‘’Let’s go.’’ They’re both somewhat hurried as they clean up, switching their gloves again and trying to make sure they didn’t leave any traces. It’s not until they’re back outside through the window again and have stored their gloves in his backpack that everything seems to break loose.

 

Zayn pushes him against the wall, kissing him with a bit too much teeth and tongue to be comfortable, but that’s not what Harry needs right now. He needs this itching under his skin to disappear, yet it only seems to intensify wherever Zayn touches him, makes it flare up and burn hot. His hips buck forward when two hands skim over his nipples and down his sides.

 

‘’Look at you,’’ Zayn murmurs, dragging down the neckline of Harry’s shirt so he can press kisses over his throat. ‘’So amazing.’’ He presses his hand into Harry’s crotch, making him gasp.

 

He’s hard, uncomfortably so. All his senses feel mixed up and he closes his eyes to clear some of the confusion. He’s aware of his hands clamped onto Zayn’s arms, feels the wetness of another tongue in his mouth and hears the zipper of his jeans being undone.

 

‘’You okay with this?’’ Zayn sounds winded himself, fingers brushing along the line of Harry’s underpants.

 

‘’Yes. Anything.’’ He doesn’t know if he’s more shocked by the cold air hitting his erection or the hand wrapping around it. It’s a bit rough without lube, but that is just what he needs. He doesn’t know how to stay quiet so he bites down on Zayn’s lip and kisses him until he’s dizzy and struggling for breath. It helps to know he’s not the only one struggling. He can see how hard Zayn is trying to keep his cool by taking deep, even breaths, sweat forming along his brow and eyes fixated on Harry.

 

‘’Ssh,’’ Zayn whispers in his ear before sinking down to his knees and looking up at him, waiting for permission. Harry nods and leans his head back against the brick wall, letting his arms slide along the rough texture and suppressing a moan when Zayn licks up the underside of his cock and slides the head across his mouth. ‘’Be quiet,’’ he says before taking Harry into his mouth, sinking further down until the only thing Harry sees is jet black hair.

 

Harry bites down on his hand, scratching the other one along the wall and loving the distraction the pain provides, until the pleasure comes back in full force and he has to swallow down a moan. He’s about to protest because what’s the point of being quiet if Zayn is making obscene noises himself, when every muscle in his body tenses and relief washes over him. ‘’Zayn,’’ he says with one sweet exhale, and comes a moment later. He’s caught in bliss, tired and sated.

 

‘’Hey,’’ Zayn whispers and pats his cheek. Harry opens his eyes slowly and registers Zayn zipping him up again. ‘’We’d better go.’’

 

‘’What about you?’’ He reaches out for Zayn, but his hands are stopped, clasped between two others.

 

‘’That’s for another time.’’ He picks up the backpack and hands it to Harry. ‘’Right now we should leave.’’

 

‘’Yeah, another time.’’

 

Zayn smiles and pulls him along. Not that he needs to; Harry would follow him anywhere.

 

~•~

 

Harry’s at work, scooted away from his desk so he can lean his chin on it. He’s watching the office, waiting for inspiration to hit him. It’s not helping; he’s too restless, thinking about the time he spent with Zayn this weekend and how he just wants to see him again. Nothing else seems to really matter, he just wants the day to move on already.

 

‘’Harold! What’s up with you?’’ Niall stands in front of him, blocking his view of everyone.

 

‘’Hmpf.’’

 

‘’What’s that?’’ He snatches the cartoon from under Harry’s nose and looks at it. ‘’This doesn’t look finished.’’

 

Harry rolls his eyes. ‘’That’s because it isn’t finished.’’

 

‘’Ah.’’ He puts it back down and looks at him. ‘’Then why aren’t you drawing?’’

 

‘’Can’t.’’ Harry sighs deeply.

 

‘’Of course you can, you’re brilliant!’’

 

Harry sits up and scoots forward so he can rest his elbows on his desk. ‘’Thanks, but that’s not it. Just don’t have the inspiration.’’

 

Niall shrugs. ‘’Can’t help you with that.’’ He sits down on the desk. ‘’Are you happy?’’

 

‘’Yes. Why are you asking?’’ Harry doesn’t know if he should be suspicious.

 

‘’Just making sure.’’ He takes a look at the drawing again. ‘’Maybe just start over with something new. This obviously isn’t working for you.’’

 

‘’Yeah, maybe.’’ He rubs his eyes tiredly. ‘’I’ll think of something.’’

 

‘’I won’t keep you then.’’ Niall slides off the desk, knocking off some pencils. He mutters an apology and carefully places them back. ‘’Oh and you know about Saturday, right? The concert?’’

 

‘’I’ll be there.’’ Harry inspects his pencils, glad to see there’s no damage.

 

‘’Good, good. Or else I’d steal your pencils.’’

 

‘’You suck at making threats.’’

 

‘’You suck at being nice.’’

 

Harry laughs. ‘’Ouch!’’

 

‘’See you, Harold.’’ Niall quickly walks off before he can make a retort, waving his hand in the air without looking back. Harry rolls his eyes, something he seems to do a lot around Niall. Since his mind seems reluctant to come up with anything for his cartoon, he decides to check his email. There’s some spam, adverts, and-

 

Gemma replied. He feels feverish all of a sudden, because what if she replied just to tell him she made a mistake? That she shouldn’t have reached out and wants to break off their contact? He can’t possibly know what to expect because he doesn’t know her at all, not anymore. It’s a weird feeling, trying to get to know your own sister. Maybe he should just open the email and get it over with.

 

_Dear Harry,_

 

_I’m doing great, thanks for asking, and my husband is very good to me. We’ve only been married a few months but I’ve never been happier. How about you? Do you have a special someone?_

 

 _Yes, we’re both getting old! Your job_ does _sound lame. I’ve just been dabbling in things myself, I’m not sure what I’d like to do yet. I do still live in England. The weather really is as bad as they say._

 

_Gemma_

 

_ps. We’ve been thinking about getting a dog. What do you think?_

 

It’s like a massive weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Everything is well. There’s nothing to worry about. Gemma still seems to be interested, which is a huge comfort.

 

Now all he has to worry about is this cursed cartoon.

 

~•~

 

It’s concert time, back at the same venue they were last time. They’re at the front, close enough to touch the stage. Not that anyone’s pushing to get a close view. The crowd’s relaxed, simply enjoying the music and the atmosphere. Harry is nodding along to the music himself, already having detected a new song in their setlist. Looks like they’ve been busy.

 

Liam is beside him, absolutely glowing with pride. Harry doesn’t think he stopped smiling ever since they came on stage and Louis blew him a kiss. Those two are nauseating to watch. They’re constantly smiling, and if they weren’t his friends, he would hate them for it, but since they are, he’s happy they’re happy. But he thinks he’s starting to understand; how it’s possible for one person to light up your entire world, although Harry’s light isn’t here. He doesn’t know if he should feel guilty for wanting to spend his Saturday with Zayn instead of being here. Not that he’s not enjoying himself. He just doesn’t feel like he can fully appreciate the concert if his mind keeps wandering off.

 

There’s a small break between songs in which Louis addresses the crowd, effortlessly boosting their spirits. ‘’And today is a very special day.’’ He walks around the stage, stopping next to Niall and slinging an arm around his shoulder. ‘’It’s our Niall’s birthday!’’ The crowd cheers and Louis laughs at an embarrassed Niall; apparently he doesn’t like all the attention being on him. ‘’Let’s sing him a song!’’

 

Everyone bursts out in song at a different time and it takes a few seconds before they’re in sync, but Harry finds himself joyfully singing along. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Niall this red. Louis is prancing around on stage, waving his arms around as if he’s directing everyone. Together they’re probably the weirdest group of friends in existence, and that’s just how he likes it.

 

‘’You’re a beautiful crowd!’’ Louis goes back to his position, taking a swig of some bottled water. ‘’Here’s our next song!’’

 

Harry is relieved when they announce their last song, because he’s starting to grow thirsty. He would love some ice cold water, which he could get as soon as they finish. If only they just started. Louis is still talking, and then he suddenly turns to them.

 

‘’Don’t you think this guy looks a little hot?’’ Harry gets oddly suspicious, so he sneakily shuffles off to the side while keeping a close eye on the situation. ‘’How about some refreshment?’’ Louis then upends a bottle of water on top of Liam, who seems to think it’s the best thing to ever happen to him, if his smile is anything to go by. ‘’Oh no, he’s still hot!’’

 

The crowd laughs but Harry just barely suppresses the urge to facepalm. He’s not sure if it’s exactly safe to stay around them tonight, because once those two get started, things will only escalate. All he has to do is stick around for a chat after the gig and then try to come up with an excuse. He shuffles back towards Liam and shakes his head. Even if he’s been known to cause a ruckus nowadays, Harry’s still fond of him.

 

At the end of the song they’re trying to find a table and spot one somewhere off to the side. Harry’s left to guard it while Liam gets their drinks, using the opportunity to check his phone. There are no messages from Zayn after the last one in which he told him to have fun. That was a while ago. He hesitates for a moment, but then decides to text him anyway.

 

_Hey. Gig just ended. Going to have a drink first. Could try to leave early, if you’ve got time? x_

 

There’s no response before Louis and Niall arrive, and moments later Liam with their drinks. Niall quickly stands next to Harry, eyeing the other two and raising his brow. ‘’Honestly,’’ he says and takes a large gulp of his beer.

 

‘’I know.’’ Harry sighs deeply.

 

‘’ _Unbelievable_.’’

 

‘’I know, Niall.’’ Harry sips from his water and silently stands with Niall to the side as the couple bickers. It’s like watching a tennis game. A very vomit-inducing tennis game. He’s silently counting down, because usually around this moment is when the kissing starts, but then the attention is suddenly turned on them.

 

‘’Niall,’’ Louis says, and the tone of his voice alone is already enough to reveal he’s got an idea. ‘’Why don’t you go and find a nice girl? It’s your birthday, after all.’’

 

‘’Great idea!’’ Niall shoots Harry a look that says ‘good luck’, and then hurries off.

 

‘’I actually think I’ll follow that advice as well,’’ Harry says and quickly downs the rest of his water. ‘’Minus the girl part.’’

 

‘’Use protection!’’ Liam shouts after him, but Harry pretends he didn’t hear as he makes his way to the bar. When he checks his phone, there’s still no response from Zayn. He doesn’t know what to do. Just when he’s thinking of ordering a drink, there’s a hand on his arm and a voice at his ear.

 

‘’Fancy meeting you here.’’ 

 

‘’Zayn?’’ Harry turns around rapidly, heart jumping to his throat. He looks around anxiously, but none of his friends are nearby. ‘’What are you doing here?’’

 

He seems disappointed by Harry’s reaction, shoulders slumping. ‘’Thought I could be just some guy you met at a concert.’’

 

‘’You’re saying?’’ Harry leans against the bar, his full attention on Zayn.

 

‘’I’d love to be more involved with your life. Maybe get to know your friends and such.’’

 

Harry smiles, leaning closer to Zayn. ‘’And I could say I met you at this concert.’’

 

‘’Exactly.’’ His hand is resting on Harry’s arm, fingers gliding softly over his skin. ‘’If you’re okay with that?’’

 

‘’Of course.’’ Harry leans in even closer, sees the stage lights reflected in Zayn’s eyes, a myriad of colors dancing over his face. All he sees are colors and when Zayn kisses him, it’s like he can feel them, too. Everything used to be dull, a somber black and white ruling over his world, but ever since he met Zayn he’s feeling in color and seeing fireworks.

 

They’re breathing deeply, their foreheads pressed together. It feels intimate, like they’re in a little cocoon in the middle of a crowd, lost in their own world. ‘’Want to leave?’’ Zayn asks him, caressing the side of his face.

 

‘’Yeah.’’ Harry nods. He wants Zayn to himself, wants him to be all he can hear. It’s tiring to have to shout at each other. ‘’My place.’’ He drags Zayn along to the exit, keeping their hands clasped together as they wait for a taxi outside. Harry shivers, suddenly regretting just wearing a T-shirt. He always underestimates how cold it will be.

 

‘’You cold?’’ Zayn asks, pulling Harry close to his side and rubbing his arm.

 

‘’A bit.’’

 

‘’Want my jacket?’’ He’s already starting to take it off when Harry stops him.

 

‘’No, that’s okay.’’ A taxi stops in front of them and they get in quickly, seeking its warmth. There’s something about sitting in the back of a taxi that builds a certain atmosphere, with long glances and just hands touching. A single point of contact that never seems to be enough. It makes the drive home seem only longer, and they both let out a frustrated sigh when they get there, hurriedly paying the driver and rushing inside the building. Harry leans his head on Zayn’s shoulder inside the elevator, trying to absorb his warmth.

 

‘’Hate elevators,’’ Zayn mutters under his breath, carding his hand through Harry’s hair.

 

‘’Too slow.’’ Harry hums when Zayn presses a kiss to his head, feeling content even in the small cramped space of the elevator. ‘’We’re here.’’

 

‘’Finally.’’

 

Harry fumbles with his keys for a bit, but they’re inside soon enough. Zayn immediately takes off his jacket and shoes, something he always does. He loves to walk around Harry’s apartment in socked feet, picking up items and asking about them, and as soon as he’s done with that he throws himself down on the couch and demands Harry cuddles with him.

 

This time he seems to hesitate and it makes Harry nervous. ‘’What is it?’’ he asks, taking off his own shoes and neatly placing them with the rest.

 

‘’Nothing.’’ Zayn is hovering by the couch, looking like he doesn’t know what to do. ‘’What if your friends don’t like me?’’

 

‘’Of course they will.’’  Harry takes his hand and makes him sit down, pulling him into his side.

 

‘’Should I get a job? Buy a house?’’

 

‘’Only if you want to.’’

 

Zayn pulls his feet up on the couch, sinking deep into Harry’s side. ‘’Babe. I’m living in a _trailer_.’’

 

‘’There’s nothing wrong with that.’’

 

‘’I know.’’ Zayn sounds exasperated, running his hands through his hair. ‘’But I’ve got all this money, and it feels like I-’’ he stops himself, dropping his hands into his lap. ‘’Like I should give you something.’’

 

‘’What, and you’re thinking about a house?’’ Harry laughs and squeezes Zayn’s shoulder. ‘’There’s no need to buy me anything, but flowe-’’ he pauses mid-sentence, carefully thinking over Zayn’s words again. ‘’Unless you’re saying something else?’’

 

‘’I know it’s too early-’’

 

‘’You want to live together?’’

 

‘’No!’’ Zayn takes a deep breath to collect himself, while Harry watches him with a rapidly beating heart. This evening took quite a turn. ‘’Not yet.’’

 

‘’Then why are we talking about this?’’

 

‘’Because I don’t want to buy a house for myself if it seems inevitable that we’ll be living together one day!’’

 

‘’Oh.’’ Harry blinks. Once, twice. ‘’You really feel that way?’’

 

Zayn looks at him, shocked. ‘’You don’t?’’

 

‘’I do.’’ And he really does. It’s easy enough for him to imagine the kitchen they’ll be eating in together every day, the bed that will be _theirs_ , all their things in the same closet. One day, that will be them. ‘’You know I do.’’

 

‘’You really scared me for a moment.’’

 

Harry caresses Zayn’s face, feels the tickle of his beard. When he met him it was just a stubble. ‘’Sorry about that.’’

 

‘’You can make up for it by watching a movie with me.’’ Zayn kisses Harry’s palm and gets up to grab the remote.

 

‘’Fair enough.’’

 

  ~•~

 

Harry’s texting his friends, resting his head on Zayn’s bare stomach while he reads a book. They’re in the trailer, having a lazy Sunday on the bed and trying to absorb all the sun that manages to shine through the windows. He’s comfortable and warm, but once the conversation with his friends stills, he’s also bored.

 

‘’Zayn,’’ he whines, throwing his phone somewhere on the bed and trying to get Zayn to look at him.

 

‘’Hm?’’ He doesn’t look, just turns a page and keeps reading.

 

‘’I’m bored.’’

 

Zayn lets the book fall down on his chest, gives Harry a blank look. ‘’I’ve got more books.’’

 

‘’How bloody exciting.’’ Harry huffs and shuffles around until his head is resting on Zayn’s shoulder. ‘’It’s hot in here.’’

 

‘’Then take off your shirt.’’ Zayn resumes his reading, or pretends to anyway, since his eyes are fixated on one spot. ‘’Nothing kept you from taking off your pants.’’

 

‘’They’re tight, I can’t relax with them.’’ Harry starts tracing his fingers along Zayn’s arm, watching goosebumps appear on his skin. When he’s bored of that, he runs his fingers along Zayn’s side, so lightly he’s barely even touching him.

 

‘’Harry,’’ Zayn sighs, putting down his book next to him. Harry hasn’t seen him turn a page in a while.

 

‘’What?’’

 

‘’You’re distracting me.’’

 

‘’Am I?’’ he asks, grinning widely. He throws one of his legs over Zayn’s and cuddles up closer to him. ‘’That wasn’t my intention.’’

 

‘’You little-’’ Zayn sits up rapidly, grabbing at Harry’s leg and flipping him on the bed. Before Harry has any time to respond, Zayn is sitting on his back, his full weight pinning him down.

 

‘’What are you doing?’’ Harry tries to crane his neck and get a view of Zayn, but he can’t lift up far enough.

 

‘’Liars get spanked!’’

 

‘’Nooo!’’ Harry wriggles around, pretending he’s trying to escape. ‘’I didn’t lie!’’

 

‘’Lying again! That’s a double spanking for you.’’

 

‘’Mercy!’’ Harry cries, but it turns into a giggle when Zayn gives him a soft pat on the bum.

 

‘’Giggling? We can’t have that!’’ Zayn pats him harder this time and Harry kicks his legs, laughing into a pillow. He’s starting to get breathless from his laughter and Zayn’s solid weight on his back. ‘’Laughing? It’s obviously not hurting enough!’’ Zayn lands another smack on his bum, a bit too hard to be playful, and curses at the same time as Harry moans.

 

Harry’s shocked, they both are. His ass is still tingling a bit, and combined with Zayn’s warm weight on him, it just feels… good. ‘’Could you do that again?’’

 

‘’Really?’’

 

‘’Yes.’’ This time Harry expects it, but it still shocks him when an involuntary moan slips past his lips. ‘’ _Oh_.’’

 

‘’Did you know?’’ Zayn asks, getting off him and kneeling next to him on the bed.

 

‘’No.’’ Harry twists around and leans on his elbows, looking down at his obvious hard-on. ‘’I had no clue.’’ He sits up and tries to cover it with his T-shirt, but then Zayn pushes him back down, bending forward and kissing him. Harry welcomes it, instinctively grabs at Zayn’s hair and opens his mouth to let Zayn suck on his tongue. He’s looking for friction, but when his hips buck up all he hits is air and it’s just too light. He misses the weight, the pressure.

 

Zayn is pulling at his shirt and Harry sits up so they can take it off, throwing it in a random direction. ‘’Pants,’’ he breathes, hands flying towards Zayn’s zipper so he can undo it, pushing the fabric off his hips impatiently.

 

‘’Easy,’’ Zayn laughs, but it sounds breathless and he’s struggling to get out of his pants himself, wriggling around on the bed and kicking them off his feet.

 

‘’Sit on my lap.’’ Harry sits back against the wall and waits for Zayn to come over to him, pulling him closer once he sits down and pressing kisses all over his bare chest. His hands glide over Zayn’s back and down until he has a handful of ass, squeezing the firm muscle.

 

‘’Harry.’’ Zayn sounds a little breathless, rolling his hips and frantically pushing down their underwear so their bare cocks can brush together.

 

All his senses are replaced with Zayn, yet it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. He needs more, mouthing along Zayn’s collarbones and licking at his skin. He gets an idea when he runs a finger in between Zayn’s ass cheeks and receives a shudder in response. ‘’Zayn?’’

 

‘’Uh?’’ Zayn looks down at him with glazed over eyes, long lashes blinking slowly. The sun hits the side of his face beautifully, and he looks ethereal, glowing. Harry’s own personal sun.

 

‘’I want you to sit on my face.’’ Zayn’s eyes widen as he says it, but he means it. ‘’Want to make you feel good.’’ He grazes his teeth over one of Zayn’s nipples. ‘’Can I make you feel good?’’

 

‘’Fu- yes.’’

 

‘’Come on, then.’’ He helps Zayn take off his underwear and scoots down so he’s lying flat on his back, pillow beneath his head. ‘’It’s okay,’’ he encourages him, taking his hand and pulling him closer. ‘’Brace yourself on the wall.’’

 

‘’Like this?’’ Zayn hesitates, hovering over Harry and looking down at him with wide eyes.

 

‘’Yeah, now just come a little closer.’’ Harry runs his hands along his thighs, grasping him and pulling him close. ‘’Just like that.’’ He licks along the underside of Zayn’s cock first, feeling his own twitch against his stomach. Then he slowly licks his way towards Zayn’s hole, using his hands to spread his cheeks, while licking and kissing around the area.

 

Zayn is making the smallest of noises, puffing little breaths and gasping when Harry finally licks over his hole. It feels so intimate, and Harry takes his time to please him, alternating between wide strokes of his tongue and blowing of air, enjoying feeling Zayn underneath his tongue and shuddering above him. Harry drags his finger along his perineum, applying pressure and going back in with his tongue. Everything is wet, his face feels slippery, and Zayn is almost dripping with spit.

 

‘’Oh, _God_.’’ Zayn bites down on his hand and Harry can feel his thighs shaking. He’s trying so hard to keep his cool, but Harry knows that’s not what he needs.

 

‘’Zayn.’’ He guides one of Zayn’s hands to his hair, makes sure he grabs onto it. ‘’That’s right, you can pull.’’ Harry runs a finger along his hole, kissing the inside of his thighs. ‘’Lose control, just this once. For me.’’

 

Zayn seems to loosen up, leaning his head against the wall and sinking further down on Harry’s face. His hand is busy wanking himself off while Harry keeps licking, using just the tip of his finger to push past his rim. Harry feels precome leaking onto his stomach, desperately needing to release himself, but his mind is set on Zayn, and only Zayn, who can no longer keep quiet and is finally letting go, making little motions with his hips. Harry pushes his finger in further, looking for that one spot that will-

 

‘’ _Shit_ ,’’ Zayn curses, tightening his grip on Harry’s hair. Harry can feel Zayn tense above him, coming with a long, drawn out moan. ‘’Harry,’’ he breathes, looking down at him with a dazed expression.

 

Harry hums and keeps pressing little kisses against Zayn’s thighs, relishing in the feeling of the soft skin against his lips. He lets out a disappointed noise when Zayn gets off him, climbing off the bed only to return with some baby wipes and lube. Harry is lazily stroking himself, watching as Zayn cleans himself up and then gets back on the bed, squeezing a liberal amount of lube in his hand.

 

‘’Let’s take care of you, yeah?’’ Zayn pushes Harry’s hand away and grips his cock himself, making Harry gasp because the lube is still somewhat cold.

 

‘’Okay.’’ Harry bites his lip, looking at Zayn deftly working him. ‘’Want your mouth.’’

 

‘’Yeah?’’ Zayn’s eyes meet his and he smiles before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the tip. ‘’That it?’’

 

Harry groans in frustration, rolling his hips. ‘’Stop teasing.’’

 

‘’Bossy,’’ Zayn says playfully, but obliges and slides him into his mouth. Harry keens, legs sliding up until his knees are bent and hands gripping the sheets. Zayn uses his hands to keep his hips pinned to the bed and increases the pace, making Harry writhe around. He can feel the energy thrumming under his skin, waiting to be let loose.

 

He tries to say something, but it’s pointless, and he’s coming sooner than he anticipated, toes curling and breath hitching. His legs flop back down on the bed and he sighs heavily, feeling sated and tired. He can see Zayn moving around on the edge of his vision, shivering when he feels the cool baby wipes on his skin. ‘’What-’’ Harry’s voice is muffled when Zayn wipes his face and neck.

 

‘’Won’t feel nice when that dries,’’ Zayn says matter-of-factly. ‘’There, all clean.’’ He kisses the tip of Harry’s nose and flops down on the bed next to him.

 

‘’Thanks.’’ Harry yawns and cuddles into Zayn’s side, resting his head on his chest.

 

‘’How about a nap?’’ Zayn proposes, but Harry’s already falling asleep before he can answer.

 

 

He wakes to the sound of a kettle and Zayn puttering about in the tiny kitchen. The sheets are pulled over his shoulders, probably by Zayn, to keep him warm. He stretches lazily, feeling the soft fabric brush over his skin.

 

‘’You hungry, babe?’’ Zayn comes over carrying two steaming cups of noodles and hands one to Harry, small plastic fork included. ‘’Sorry, don’t really have any cutlery,’’ Zayn says sheepishly, carefully sitting down next to Harry so as not to spill anything.

 

‘’It’s okay.’’ His stomach is rumbling and he suddenly realises he’s famished. He’ll eat anything right now. ‘’Thanks.’’

 

They eat in silence for a while and Harry watches the orange glow of the setting sun color the white sheets, feeling the warmth seep through it. If it was up to him he’d sleep for a few more hours, preferably in Zayn’s arms.

 

‘’There’s something I need to tell you.’’

 

Harry pauses eating, lowering his fork. ‘’What is it?’’

 

‘’I found a red hand.’’

 

‘’The symbol? Where?’’ Their food is forgotten, but Harry doesn’t think he’d want to keep eating anyway. He’s too shocked.

 

‘’Just a small supermarket. I’m not sure if-’’ Zayn sighs and runs a hand down his face. ‘’It’s not exactly a secret that I’m in town, so it’s possible.’’

 

‘’What’s the address?’’

 

‘’Apparently it belongs to an office complex on the outskirts somewhere, but it’s not finished yet. And they’ve also given a date.’’ He looks at Harry, brows furrowed. ‘’What should we do?’’

 

Harry thinks for a moment, absentmindedly stirring his remaining noodles with his fork. ‘’Maybe the person left more information there?’’

 

‘’Why would they?’’

 

‘’I don’t know.’’ Harry shrugs. ‘’Maybe they want to meet you. There are many possibilities.’’

 

‘’Including bad ones.’’ Zayn’s gaze drifts away to a small stack of boxes in his bedroom. ‘’But I’ve got something to protect us.’’

 

‘’A weapon?’’ Harry tilts his head, smiling. ‘’Good. And it’s probably two against one.’’

 

‘’So you’re saying we check it out?’’

 

‘’Aren’t you up for a little adventure?’’ Harry teases him, and he already knows what Zayn is going to say, because he never backs away from a challenge.

 

‘’It’s on.’’

 

~•~

 

_He’s lying in his bed, but sleep won’t come to him. They’re at it again, yelling and slamming doors downstairs, and he feels sick, like his stomach is clawing its way through his throat and his heart is trying to escape through his ears._

 

 _His curtains are dancing with the wind, the cold moonlight creeping in past the open windows and when he holds his hand up against the light he sees they’re trembling. Why does the fighting affect him so much? Why is he so scared?_ What _is he scared of?_

 

_He doesn’t want to think of the possibilities, because he knows. Knows entirely too much; caught things from conversations they didn’t think he’d hear and even remembers most of the things his mother confessed late at night, stroking his hair and thinking he was asleep. But what are the chances? Surely nothing will happen to him. They’re just words. It won’t happen._

 

_Harry shoots up in his bed when there’s pounding on his door, repeatedly and in the same pattern. He’s petrified, heart pounding against his ribcage. There’s something seeping in from underneath his door, a glimmering liquid, and it takes him a moment to realise it’s water. He rushes over to the door, getting his feet wet, and tries to pull it open. It won’t budge, it’s stuck._

 

_He can’t open his door and there’s water rushing inside. The window, where’s the window? There are only solid walls, no way to escape. Harry doesn’t know what to do, he’s panicking, looking for a way out. The water is up to his knees now and he’s splashing around his room, kicking his floating stuffed animals out of the way. He tries to pick up his chair, but it’s too heavy, he won’t be able to break the door with it._

 

_‘’Help!’’ he yells, rushing back toward the door and pounding on it, trying to drown out the noise on the other side. Louder, he needs to be louder. ‘’I’m stuck!’’ He’s yelling so hard it hurts his throat and his hand is throbbing from bashing on the door._

 

_‘’Mom!’’ he yells instead, feeling tears spring free from his eyes. The water is up to his waist now. What can he do? He screams until his voice breaks, until his lungs are burning and he's gasping for breath. It reaches his chin now and he's tired, his arms aching. He can't lift them up, can't yell anymore._

 

_He can't._

 

_His feet aren't touching the ground and he's terrified. Where is his mother? Why won't she come for him? He's kicking his feet against the water, feeling the top of his head brush the ceiling. "No, no."_

 

_He pounds on the ceiling, hoping to break through, but it's useless. "Mom!" It's useless. "Help." Nobody._

 

_Water surrounds him. He's floating in his room, sees his teddy bear drift by him underwater. Bubbles escape his mouth. His lungs are on fire and it feels like his chest might cave in. He tries to fight it, but the water is winning. There is nothing he can do._

 

 

Harry gasps for breath, feeling disoriented. It takes him a moment to realise it was just a dream and he's not surrounded by water. He's not in his old bedroom. He is still very much alive.

 

It's 3 am but he doesn't want to go back to sleep yet; he's still too shaken by his dream and how real it felt, how when he woke up his first thought was: _is this the afterlife?_ Even with everything he does, he doesn't really think about death, or what might come after, who he will see. He doesn't want to think about it now. Maybe not ever. He instinctively grabs for his phone, opening up his messages and sending one to Zayn.

 

Harry: _Are you awake? x_

 

It's late and there's a small chance, but a small chance is all he needs. Barely any time passes before there's a reply.

 

Zayn: _Something wrong? Are you okay?_

 

Harry: _Just a nightmare. I'm good. Sorry if I woke you up._

 

There's no reply for a bit and Harry's thinking that Zayn fell asleep, only to be surprised when his phone rings and it's him.

 

"Hey. Did I wake you?"

 

"No, not at all. Don't worry, babe.’’

 

‘’You couldn’t sleep?’’

 

There’s a sigh, Harry can hear the rustling of sheets. ‘’No. Just been drawing. So you had a nightmare?’’

 

‘’Yeah.’’ He gets comfortable, pulling the covers up to his chin. ‘’I drowned.’’

 

‘’How?’’

 

‘’I was in my old bedroom. The one from my childhood. It just filled up with water.’’ He listens to the sound of scratching from the other side, the unmistakable sound of pencil moving across paper. It’s soothing, somehow. ‘’That’s bad water, right?’’

 

‘’What do _you_ think?’’

 

‘’Definitely not good. But it wasn’t like an ocean - all aggressive and stuff.’’

 

‘’How are you feeling?’’

 

‘’Right now? I’d say tired.’’

 

Zayn chuckles, so softly Harry barely caught it. ‘’No babe, I mean in general. How are you feeling?’’

 

‘’Oh.’’ He thinks about it, what he catches himself thinking about the most. ‘’Worried. About Gemma. Maybe some other little things. I just want everything to go well.’’

 

‘’That’s perfectly reasonable. And I wouldn’t worry too much about Gemma. She’s your sister, after all.’’ The scratching stops momentarily, just the shortest pause. ‘’You never _really_ told me what happened…’’

 

‘’You want to know the whole story?’’

 

‘’I want to know _you_. What made you and shaped you. Unless you don’t want to tell.’’

 

‘’No, I do.’’ He collects himself, thinks about where to start and what to say. Not that the latter really matters; he knows he can say anything to Zayn without having to fear judgment, without having to fear that he might lose him. Harry can only describe it as feeling free. He never knew freedom could come in the form of a person.

 

‘’You could start with the first thing you remember from that night,’’ Zayn suggests.

 

‘’I woke up. There was yelling. My parents used to fight all the time, but this time it felt different. Wrong. So I had to check it out.’’ He has to swallow a lump in his throat before he can continue, and Zayn waits patiently. ‘’When I did, there was shattering glass. And then silence.’’

 

‘’What did you do?’’

 

‘’Went to the source, which was the kitchen. Mom - she was… I stabbed my dad, then. I don’t think Gemma saw, but she knew what I did.’’

 

‘’I’m sorry.’’

 

‘’Bastard deserved it.’’ Harry bites down on his bottom lip, but he can’t stop the tears from forming. ‘’I just - I keep imagining scenarios. In which I woke up sooner, did _something_ to save her. I was _there_ , just upstairs. So close and I was useless.’’

 

‘’’Shh, it’s okay. You had no way of knowing. Nobody suspects these things.’’

 

Harry sniffles and uses the corner of his sheets to dry his eyes. ‘’You’re right, nobody does. They won’t suspect us, either.’’

 

‘’We’ll make them pay. Don’t worry.’’

 

‘’Thank you.’’

 

‘’’S all good. Now go back to sleep, babe.’’

 

‘’Only if you’ll do the same.’’ Harry knows it’s probably childish to say, but the truth is he doesn’t want to hang up. He’d rather stay on the phone with Zayn and just listen to him talk about anything and everything. It rarely happens, if not never, that he genuinely just likes to hear a person talk, just for the sake of hearing their voice or learning more about them, or even just to feel like he means enough to someone to be talked to about anything and everything. It’s all about learning the little things; those are the things that take time and dedication. Something that can’t be learned in a day.

 

‘’Don’t be silly. You have to wake up early for work.’’

 

Harry ignores Zayn’s comment and asks him a question instead. ‘’Why can’t _you_ sleep?’’

 

‘’Too much pent up energy.’’

 

‘’But you’re okay?’’

 

‘’I’m more than okay.’’ It’s harder to tell if Zayn is telling the truth without being able to see his facial expressions, or the little tells he has, but it sounds genuine enough.

 

‘’Okay, that’s good.’’ Harry can feel his eyes slowly falling shut, the urge to close them becoming too great. ‘’Might sleep now…’’

 

‘’You do that. Goodnight, babe. Talk to you tomorrow.’’

 

Harry giggles. ‘’You mean today.’’

 

‘’Of course. Until today.’’ Harry mumbles something in response, but it gets lost as the connection dies. He lets his phone fall out of his hand, and himself into the land of the sleeping.

 

 

The first thought he has when his alarm wakes him is that alarms, in fact, should be forbidden. He’s sure just the sheer shock he experiences when it goes off is enough to shorten his life by a few years. _But_ , they are good at what they do, which is wake him up. Getting him out of bed is another issue, though. It’s too warm and comfortable and he permits himself to stay in bed a bit longer if he eats on his way to work. A reasonable compromise.

 

To make himself somewhat useful, he decides to check the weather - even colder - and his email. There’s one. Just one, at the top of his inbox, and it’s from Gemma. He’s not sure if it’s the best idea to read it first thing in the morning (what if it’s bad news?), but he also doesn’t want to be anxious about it all day. Apparently his fingers decided before he did, because he already tapped on the email to read it.

 

_Dear Harry,_

 

_That’s great to hear! I hope things go well for you two._

 

_Yes, we both really want a dog but we can’t seem to agree on a breed! Or a name. If we don’t come to an agreement on this I’m not sure this marriage will work out._

 

_Speaking of marriage - we still haven’t been on a proper honeymoon. Since he’s adamant on spending tons of money, I was thinking we could just pop by you? See New York City. I know it’s soon to propose this but by the time we’re actually going it’s probably much later, so… let me know?_

 

_Gemma_

 

His alarm may have woken him up, but now he’s finally _awake_. And Gemma wants to see him. He reads the email again, just to be sure. It’s true. His sister wants to see him.

 

‘’No fucking way.’’

 

~•~

 

It’s difficult to hide his excitement all day, but he really wants to tell Liam first. He doesn’t spill, not even when Niall starts asking questions.

 

‘’Just tell me! I can keep a secret.’’

 

‘’I’m sure you can.’’ Harry pushes Niall out of his face, keeping a close eye on the mug that’s dangerously close to toppling off his desk.

 

‘’I just want to know what’s got you smiling so much.’’ Niall sits on his desk and nearly knocks the mug over. He’s really testing Harry’s patience.

 

‘’Nothing.’’

 

‘’ _Who_ then?’’

 

‘’Niall!’’ If that man ever so much as suspects something, he’s on it.

 

‘’Certainly not me.’’ He picks up a pen, using it to poke Harry. ‘’You always look grumpy around me.’’

 

‘’That’s because you hit me with newspapers and-’’ Harry snatches the pen out of his grip, ‘’ _poke_ me with pens!’’

 

‘’You calling me annoying now?’’

 

‘’Yes.’’ Harry picks up the mug and puts it in a safer spot, just to be sure. ‘’Definitely.’’

 

Niall frowns, looking sullen. ‘’Really? No joking?’’

 

‘’No,’’ Harry sighs. ‘’It’s just banter, yeah? I like having you around. Plus, I feel special when you poke me.’’

 

‘’It’s true, I don’t do it to anyone else.’’ Niall slides off the desk, taking a few sheets of paper with him. ‘’You should feel special.’’ He picks up the paper, dropping it haphazardly on Harry’s desk. ‘’I’m expecting a full report on your behavior soon, though! I need to know who or what is making my Harold happy.’’

 

‘’You’re not going to poke me?’’

 

Niall laughs and starts to walk away. ‘’When you least expect it!’’

 

‘’Oh, I’m scared now.’’

 

‘’You’ll never see me coming!’’

 

Harry can’t think of a good retort so he just ignores him and tries to organise his desk after Niall made a mess of it. That guy can do just about anything and be thanked for it, because he can make anyone feel special. It’s just how he shows his affection.

 

Liam is much more obvious; he acts like a puppy drunk on love, throwing around compliments and trying to get your attention. Over time it gets less enthusiastic and more solid and comforting. He’s always there when you need him. Sometimes with pizza, if he’s late. Like tonight.

 

‘’Sorry I’m late pizza?’’ Liam says when Harry opens the door.

 

Harry lets him in and follows him to the couch. ‘’Did you bring pizza because you’re late or are you late because you brought pizza?’’

 

Liam stands still for a moment, looking perplexed. ‘’What was that?’’

 

‘’Nevermind. Sit down.’’ He waits for Liam to sit down before he does so himself, throwing his legs over Liam’s lap. ‘’So, why _are_ you late?’’

 

‘’Ehm.’’ He scratches his chin, appearing somewhat guilty. ‘’Louis.’’

 

‘’Aaaand, I know enough.’’ Harry looks down at his half-eaten slice, feeling his appetite take a momentary dip.

 

‘’Sorry, mate.’’

 

‘’Nah it’s good.’’ He pauses eating for a moment, staring out ahead of him. ‘’You should. It’s what you’re supposed to do.’’

 

‘’What am I supposed to do?’’

 

‘’Spend time with him whenever you can. And never apologize for it.’’

 

‘’Where’s this coming from?’’ Liam looks concerned, wraps his hand around Harry’s ankle for comfort.

 

‘’Gemma replied. She wants to see me.’’

 

‘’What? I mean, wow!’’

 

‘’I know.’’ Harry feels strange now that he’s said it out loud. He never expected this would happen, always thought she would be gone forever. At times he even accepted it, tried to convince himself he would be fine if he never saw her or spoke to her again. But not always; some days he’d write emails that have never been sent and are still in his drafts, days that he refused to give up. And now they’re here. Actually talking. ‘’It’s so surreal.’’

 

‘’Yeah, but it was really just a matter of time.’’

 

‘’You always thought she’d come back?’’

 

Liam nods. ‘’She’s your sister, man. She’s family.’’ He smirks, and Harry can see the comical glint in his eyes. ‘’Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten.’’

 

‘’You quoting Lilo and Stitch, now?’’ Harry groans. He’d facepalm himself if his hand wasn’t covered in grease.

 

‘’Yeah.’’ Liam giggles, handing Harry a napkin when he nods towards them. ‘’Lou had to watch his younger siblings one day. They watched it.’’

 

‘’Why don’t I believe you?’’

 

‘’Fine, _we_ watched it. They fell asleep somewhere in the beginning.’’

 

Harry laughs and throws his napkin at Liam. ‘’How sweet.’’

 

‘’Bro, it’s a good movie.’’

 

‘’Mm, I bet.’’ He leans back with his hands behind his head. ‘’What did you watch after? Winnie the Pooh?’’

 

‘’No, we went upstairs and-’’

 

‘’Forget I asked-’’

 

‘’We _made out_ -’’

 

‘’Liam!’’ Harry puts his fingers in his ear, yelling loudly. He waits for Liam to shut his mouth before he’s brave enough to listen again.

 

‘’Just wait. One day you’ll be able to do the same thing.’’

 

‘’Actually…’’ Harry trails off, giving him a meaningful look.

 

Liam gasps. ‘’No?!’’

 

‘’Yes?’’

 

‘’When? _How?_ You don’t even go outside!’’

 

‘’Thanks, Liam,’’ Harry deadpans. ‘’It happened at the concert.’’

 

‘’What are the chances? And why am I only hearing this now?’’

 

Harry bites his lip and avoids Liam’s gaze. ‘’I didn’t want to like, jinx it by getting excited too soon.’’

 

‘’Fair enough. What’s his name? What is he like?’’

 

‘’Well.’’ Harry puffs his cheeks, blowing out a harsh breath. ‘’His name is Zayn. He’s _so_ gorgeous, I can’t even describe it.’’

 

‘’You’re smitten already,’’ Liam coos, shaking Harry’s feet.

 

‘’Stop that-’’ Harry pulls his feet back and sits cross legged on the couch. ‘’And if you saw him you’d understand. In fact, I think I could ask him to send a selfie.’’

 

‘’Wouldn’t that be a bit strange?’’

 

‘’Nonsense.’’ Harry gets his phone out of his pocket and unlocks the screen. ‘’We send each other photos all the time.’’

 

‘’I… don’t know what to do with that information.’’

 

Harry rolls his eyes and scrolls through his gallery. ‘’It’s fine, found an old one.’’ He hands his phone to Liam and waits for a reaction.

 

‘’Only you could pull this off,’’ Liam sighs, handing his phone back.

 

‘’Jealous much?’’

 

‘’No, I like my Louis.’’

 

Harry puts his phone back in his pocket and snuggles up to Liam. ‘’Good, because Zayn’s mine.’’

 

‘’You know I was going to ask if you could tell me more about him, but I don’t think I want to anymore.’’

 

Harry scoffs. ‘’Like you weren’t the worst with Louis.’’

 

‘’You asked!’’

 

‘’Because it’s the polite thing to do.’’ He leans his head on Liam’s shoulder, soaks in his warmth.

 

‘’I’m still not going to ask.’’

 

Harry chuckles. ‘’I know, but I still love you.’’

 

‘’Yeah.’’ Liam pats him on the head. ‘’Love you, too.’’

 

~•~

 

It’s dark outside, the sun having sunk below the horizon a long time ago. Harry’s walking towards Zayn’s trailer with a spring in his step, looking up at the moon and listening to the gravel crunching beneath his feet. He feels alive. Ready for adventure. He’s been waiting, but tonight's the night. They’re going to the office complex to investigate, and even though Harry’s nervous, he’s more excited. Plus he’s with Zayn. Everything will be fine.

 

If he squints his eyes he can just make out the trailer, with lights on inside. It’s become a familiar sight over time, something Harry’s came to see as a second home. An escape he can go to if he doesn’t want to face the real world for a while, because the real world is a terrible place with terrible people. At least he’s trying to do something about it. And now he has Zayn to share that burden with him, and after tonight maybe another person.

 

Things are starting to get better lately, which must mean he’s doing something right. He feels like the universe is saluting him, bringing him all these gifts. The most beautiful one being Zayn, in every way possible. He just can’t wrap his head around it. He tries, but fails. Maybe some things shouldn’t be figured out.

 

He knocks on the door, watches his breath form miniature clouds in the cold night air. It takes a moment before it opens but when it does, Zayn smiles brightly at him.

 

‘’Hey.’’ Zayn greets him with a short kiss on the lips. ‘’Come on in.’’

 

Harry sits on the couch and watches him flit around the trailer. ‘’You decided to clean just now?’’

 

Zayn chuckles, a low warm sound. ‘’No, I’ll be just a minute.’’

 

‘’Okay.’’ Not that Harry’s complaining; he gets to watch Zayn, something he always likes to do. This time he looks like he just woke up, with his hair sticking in all directions and a soft worn sweater bunched up over a T-shirt. It’s like he got dressed in a hurry.

 

‘’Done!’’ Zayn comes out of his bedroom carrying a small backpack, much like Harry’s. ‘’Aren’t you wearing a coat? It’s cold outside.’’

 

Harry shakes his head. ‘’I only have one good coat, can’t mess it up.’’

 

‘’Ah, I see.’’ He looks down at himself, smooths out his sweater. ‘’Good point.’’

 

‘’You ready to go?’’

 

‘’Yes, there’s something I need to show you.’’

 

Harry waits for Zayn to turn off the lights and then follows him outside, shuddering when the cold air hits his warm cheeks. ‘’What is it?’’

 

‘’You’ll see.’’ Zayn holds out his hand so Harry can link their fingers together and starts walking. ‘’Figured it was about time.’’

 

‘’I’m curious now.’’ Harry starts walking closer to him, hoping to soak up the warmth radiating off him. It’s not freezing yet, just cold. But just cold is enough for him to layer on the clothes and seek warmth wherever he can. ‘’Where is it?’’

 

‘’Patience, babe.’’

 

‘’Fine.’’ They pass the chain-link fence and Harry is suddenly struck by memories of his first time coming here. It feels like a lifetime ago that he was waiting near the fence, kicking around in the gravel and waiting for Zayn to come get him. How mesmerised he was by just his eyes. Still is, actually. And they kissed for the first time, that day. He can do that anytime now if he wants to. It’s funny how fast things change. He doesn’t really realise things are changing until they already have and he’s looking back on it.

 

‘’Almost there.’’

 

Harry glances around and notices they’re just walking in a small street, which is leaning more towards looking like an alley than an actual street. There’s nothing special to be seen. Not that the flickering lanterns provide enough light to actually see anything. They stop abruptly, and Harry looks at Zayn, confused.

 

‘’What is it?’’

 

‘’A car, babe. I bought a car.’’

 

‘’Oh!’’ Harry looks next to him, sees a black car slightly in need of a new paint job, but it’s a car. And it seems to be in good shape. ‘’Where did you get it?’’ He walks around it to try to see more, but it’s too dark.

 

‘’A car dealer somewhere nearby. Had to replace some things but it runs beautifully now.’’ He unlocks the doors so Harry can take a look inside. ‘’Could pick you up for our dates now.’’

 

‘’I’d love that!’’ Harry inspects the interior, noticing it smells clean and looks new. Probably one of the things Zayn had to take care of. ‘’Maybe go to a nice restaurant,’’ he muses, closing the door and smiling at Zayn.

 

‘’Wherever you want to go.’’

 

He feels his heart flutter in his chest when Zayn softly pushes him against the side of the car and leans into him, brushing their noses together. ‘’We wouldn’t even have to…’’ Harry trails off, holds his breath as Zayn presses soft kisses along the column of his throat.

 

‘’Mm?’’ Zayn hums, snaking his hand around the back of Harry’s neck.

 

‘’Nothing.’’ Harry lets himself be pulled in, revels in the feeling of Zayn’s lips, soft against his own. It’s exactly the warmth he needs, so he tugs him closer, opens his mouth and lets him in. He runs his fingers through Zayn’s hair, feels the silky texture.

 

‘’Babe,’’ Zayn whispers against his lips. ‘’We should go.’’

 

‘’Right.’’ Harry lets Zayn open the door for him, and throws his backpack in the back before sitting down, taking a deep breath. Soon they’re driving, with the radio on low volume and heating turned up high. He looks at the houses they’re passing and wonders if he’ll ever live in a neighbourhood like this himself. Maybe with his own little family. ‘’What’s your opinion on pets?’’

 

Zayn seems taken aback by Harry’s sudden question. ‘’Pets? They’re cool. I’d love to have them.’’

 

‘’Good.’’

 

‘’Why are you asking?’’

 

Harry shrugs. ‘’I’ll want pets later.’’ He can see Zayn smiling to himself, that little one he does when he’s pleased.

 

‘’Yeah? What kind of pets?’’

 

‘’I don’t know.’’ Harry shifts in his seat, angles himself towards the heating. ‘’Only ever had a cat. They’re pretty easy to take care of.’’

 

‘’Cat is good to start with.’’ Zayn nods to himself.

 

‘’To start with? You planning to buy a zoo?’’

 

Zayn laughs, although it’s more of a giggle. ‘’Who knows? We could start a zoo, live with the animals.’’

 

‘’Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to work.’’ He grimaces. ‘’Might get eaten by lions.’’

 

‘’Lions can be good.’’

 

‘’You’re joking, right?’’

 

Zayn pats his leg reassuringly. ‘’Of course, babe. We won’t be living with the lions.’’

 

‘’Good to know.’’

 

‘’We _could_ buy a farm.’’

 

‘’You know.’’ Harry bites back a laugh. ‘’I can totally see you in a cowboy outfit.’’

 

‘’If that’s what you want, I’ll do it.’’ Harry’s not sure if he’s joking, but he seems to be serious.

 

‘’Really? You’d dress up for me?’’

 

Zayn shrugs. ‘’Yeah, why not? I could look around for things if you want me to.’’

 

‘’No, that’s… It’s just nice to know you’d do that for me.’’

 

‘’You know I’d do anything for you.’’

 

It’s not really a surprise to Harry; he suspected it, but it’s still nice to hear it. ‘’I could totally kiss you right now.’’

 

‘’I’m driving.’’ Zayn looks at him, grinning. ‘’I could pull over, though.’’ He wiggles his eyebrows. ‘’Get the steam going in here.’’

 

‘’That’s for later.’’

 

‘’Right.’’ Zayn clears his throat. ‘’We have an appointment. Sort of.’’

 

‘’Yeah. How are you feeling?’’

 

‘’I don’t know.’’ He frowns, grips the steering wheel a little tighter. ‘’Not sure what to expect.’’

 

Harry nods in agreement. He doesn’t know how to feel himself. Earlier on he was excited, almost. Waiting for a possible adventure to happen. Now he’s not sure; he feels unprepared, like he should know more. But he can’t. It’s all a mystery. ‘’We started almost the same way, didn’t we?’’

 

‘’I guess.’’

 

‘’But?’’

 

Zayn shakes his head. ‘’We chose broad daylight, and a public location.’’

 

‘’That _was_ risky.’’

 

‘’Maybe.’’

 

Harry looks out the window, at the changing scenery. He has no idea how long they’ve been driving or where they’re going, but this area seems particularly empty, like it hasn’t yet seen human life. The city lights are nearly gone and when he looks up at the sky he can see the stars dotted across the black vastness, as if they came out just to watch them. Harry hopes they bring them good luck.

 

It makes him think about a documentary he once watched that taught him humans were basically made from stardust. A star had to die for them to exist. Then he thought about all the horrible people in the world. What a waste of stardust. One person Harry deems worthy to be made of stars is Zayn. Maybe he came from a special star, one that gave its dust just to Zayn. If Harry was a star, he’d do the same. Give all of him so Zayn could exist.

 

He doesn’t think he’s ever been this willing to give himself to a person completely and without expecting anything in return. Just to make them happy, give them what they deserve. So he gives Zayn the most precious thing he has: time. And in turn, Zayn gives his.

 

‘’We’re almost there.’’ Zayn slows down the car, looks ahead of him carefully. ‘’Tell me if you see anything suspicious. I’m not taking any chances.’’

 

‘’Okay.’’ Harry focuses on the sides, trying to see if there is anything out of the ordinary. Not that  this place itself is ordinary; it’s a set of half-finished buildings, surrounded by cranes and all kinds of building materials. ‘’Which one is it?’’

 

‘’The last one.’’ It happens to be the most complete one, rising a few stories above the others.

 

‘’And where exactly are we supposed to meet them?’’

 

‘’The garage.’’ Zayn slowly starts to steer off the road, until they’re just parked at the side.

 

‘’Why is it so far away?’’

 

Zayn looks out the window to inspect the building. ‘’Not sure. Maybe they came from the other side and this was closer for them?’’

 

‘’Right.’’ Harry isn’t so sure anymore, watches the dark silhouette of the building with a bad feeling in his stomach, like it could collapse any moment. He knows that’s not going to happen and that there’s nothing suspicious to be seen, but he often needs more than just his eyes to believe something.

 

‘’I’ve got something.’’ Zayn bends over his seat and rummages around in his backpack on the backseat before handing Harry a towel.

 

‘’What is…?’’

 

‘’Unwrap it.’’

 

‘’Oh.’’ That’s when he notices the weight, and carefully unwraps it. When he’s done, a gun almost slides into his lap, but he manages to catch it in time. ‘’Woah.’’

 

‘’I know, right?’’

 

‘’Have you ever used it?’’

 

Zayn shakes his head. ‘’Nah, too noisy.’’

 

‘’Then why did you bring it?’’

 

‘’Nobody’s around. And it gives us range.’’ Zayn’s obviously thought about it more than Harry has. It does something to ease the nerves. Just so they’re manageable. ‘’You ready, then?’’

 

‘’Let’s do it.’’ He hands the gun back to Zayn, who keeps it firmly within his grip. When they step out of the car it feels even colder than before, without being surrounded by buildings and other things generating heat. There’s loose sand everywhere, mixed with fine dust. They’re still a distance away from the building, but they soon approach it, the structure looming over them.

 

‘’Let’s find a way into the garage,’’ Zayn proposes, walking ahead of Harry a bit.

 

‘’Okay.’’ He shivers and pulls his sleeves over his hands. It proves difficult to find an entrance, since it’s still all walls with no doors, but when they round one corner, there’s an obvious decline leading into a garage. There’s only the main structure of the building, which means there are no gates keeping them out.

 

‘’Can barely see a thing down here,’’ Zayn whispers as they start the decline, making sure to make as little noise as possible.

 

‘’Should have brought flashlights.’’

 

‘’Didn’t expect it to be this dark, did we?’’

 

‘’Maybe just a bit.’’ The ground is slowly starting to level again, meaning they’re finally inside. They round a corner, and Harry grabs onto Zayn’s sleeve. ‘’Look, there’s light over there.’’

 

‘’Looks like one of those industrial lamps,’’ Zayn comments, slowly walking towards it.

 

‘’Is this really smart?’’ Harry suddenly feels like an insect being drawn to a light, only moments away from being swatted.

 

‘’Probably not.’’ Zayn stops, looks at Harry in the dark. ‘’You want to leave?’’

 

‘’I- no. Let’s keep going.’’ He walks up to Zayn’s side and follows him further towards the light, trying to see if anyone is around. ‘’I can’t see anyone.’’

 

‘’They have to be here.’’ Zayn walks around the light and inspects it while Harry looks around anxiously, almost as if he expects something to jump at him from the dark. It doesn’t feel good. Never has he been afraid. He doesn’t like feeling afraid.

 

‘’What if they left? What if they didn’t think you’d show?’’

 

Zayn walks back over to Harry, placing his hand on his shoulder. ‘’Then there’s nothing we can do about that. Maybe we should just-’’

 

‘’And so we meet. At last.’’ It’s a strange voice, coming from behind him. Harry twists around so fast he suspects he pulled a muscle, and Zayn automatically raises his gun, pointing it at the stranger. It’s a young man, maybe even younger than them.

 

Harry wants to say something, but he’s frozen in place, fear pinning him down like cement. The stranger has a gun, too. And it’s pointed at Zayn.

 

‘’Which one of you is it, hmm?’’ Neither of them say anything, too filled with doubt and uncertainty. ‘’Answer me!’’ The young man points his gun back and forth between them. ‘’Which one of you killed my father?’’

 

They look at each other, and Harry can see Zayn’s eyes are wide with fear. He feels it, too. There’s no amount of thinking or luck or running that will get them out of this one.

 

‘’He might have done some bad things, but he didn’t deserve to die!’’ He focuses the gun on Zayn again. ‘’It you? Looks like it. Pretty sure you’re the pretentious ass who calls himself an artist. What the fuck am I supposed to do with a bloody mural?’’

 

Harry opens and closes his mouth, failing to come up with any words, but it’s still enough to draw the man’s attention.

 

‘’And who are you, then? His buddy? Or his servant?’’

 

‘’Watch it,’’ Zayn bites, visibly tightening the grip on his gun.

 

The young man laughs. It’s cold and empty. ‘’Ohh, no! Boyfriend? This is _beautiful_.’’

 

Zayn pulls back the slide on his gun, an obvious threat.

 

‘’I see. You love him, don’t you? Does he know, your boyfriend?’’

 

‘’Shut up,’’ Zayn snaps.

 

‘’Zayn?’’ Harry whispers, his voice echoing eerily.

 

‘’You think he’ll love you back?’’

 

‘’I said, SHUT UP!’’

 

Harry feels his heart racing, going into overdrive. He can feel the situation slipping out of his hands and he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know _if_ he can do anything. The tension is palpable, like a snare pulled taut and waiting to snap. The gun is still pointed at Zayn, and all Harry can think is _not him, not him_.

 

‘’Yelling won’t help you,’’ the man says. ‘’Or him.’’ He points his gun at Harry. The snare snaps.

 

It’s like he got swung at with a hammer, a force that makes him lose his footing and propels him backwards. For a moment he’s only aware of a dark ceiling, and his eardrums painfully throbbing. Then the burning starts, an eruption of fire in his abdomen that takes away his breath.

 

‘’ _Harry!_ ’’ It’s Zayn, he’s down on his knees and hovering above Harry. ‘’Breathe.’’

 

He takes in air, gulps it in like he’s starving for it. ‘’What happened?’’

 

‘’It’s my fault.’’ Zayn pulls him up into a sitting position, runs his hand along his back.

 

‘’What is?’’

 

‘’You got shot.’’ Harry looks down at himself, sees the red blooming over his sweater. He feels dizzy.

 

‘’Oh.’’ Everything suddenly makes sense; the noise, the pain. But all of that seems less important than knowing Zayn is alright.

 

‘’There’s no exit wound.’’ Zayn is starting to sound breathless, his voice trembling. ‘’Need to call an ambulance.’’

 

‘’It’s bad?’’ He’s lying in Zayn’s arms and when he tries to look down at himself he finds that it’s too difficult. It requires too much strength.

 

Zayn huffs a laugh, although it’s more of a distressed noise. ‘’Yes, babe.’’ Harry can see him fumbling with his phone, a curse slipping past his lips. ‘’There’s no cell reception. I’ll have to - I have to carry you.’’

 

‘’Zayn.’’

 

‘’Y-yes, love?’’

 

‘’Hospital’s too far.’’ It hurts to breathe. It just hurts.

 

‘’No, I c-can get you there,’’ Zayn sobs, clutching Harry closer to him.

 

‘’Just be with me.’’ Harry closes his eyes, feels Zayn’s hand brushing through his hair.

 

‘’I’m always with you.’’

 

Harry thinks about earlier, there’s something he needs to ask. ‘’You love me?’’

 

‘’Yes.’’ Harry feels the soft tickle of a beard, and lips pressed against his forehead. ‘’So much.’’

 

The pain from his wound is nothing compared to the pain he feels in his heart, the sheer agony of _wanting_. He wants to stay. ‘’I love you, too.’’

 

Zayn whines, and Harry feels tears burn in his own eyes. ‘’Don’t cry,’’ he pleads, wanting to reach out and comfort Zayn. ‘’Wherever I go, I’ll wait.’’

 

‘’I know.’’

 

Harry can feel Zayn trembling and it’s like his own foundation is being shaken, like everything is being uprooted and all his plans just vanished. ‘’Maybe I’ll find us a farm.’’

 

‘’Y-you do that.’’ Harry feels like he’s floating, being carried by Zayn’s voice. ‘’With lots of animals.’’

 

‘’Sounds nice.’’ He’s not sure if Zayn can hear him, his voice sounds too weak to his own ears. Or maybe he just doesn’t hear so well anymore. ‘’I’ll miss you, though.’’

 

‘’I’ll miss you more.’’

 

Harry smiles. Imagines himself smiling, anyway. ‘’’S impossible.’’

 

‘’I’ll always miss you most.’’

 

‘’Shh,’’ Harry murmurs. He likes to think about their house, with all their animals. Maybe a room for his mother to stay in; Harry can’t wait to see her. Would love for Zayn to meet her one day. It will take some time, but he’ll find them a place. Somewhere away from the bad things, a place just for them, a place they’ll fit.

 

Their own home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The image that was used in this fic is actually art by Judith Ann Braun, a brilliant artist who makes fingerprint graphite works!
> 
> Any questions? Find me on tumblr! (lotusandrose)


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